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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954971">A Spoonful of Promises II</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be'>desla_be</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Learning How to Smile [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, both sandor and sansa have histories of being abused</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:08:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>76,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Original premise is in part 1’s summary but as a quick refresher: </p><p>This part 2 is focused on the navigation of Sandor and Sansa’s relationship, seeing as he’s never had one, and her most recent relationship was abusive and traumatic. Very fluffy and angsty slow burn.</p><p>If you’re looking for copious fluff therapy and not a lot of plot, boy do I have good news for you</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane &amp; Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Learning How to Smile [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Color of a Wolf's Coat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="s1"><em>Be there in 30,</em> Sansa read, a little gray bubble beside a little bloodhound icon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="s1">Sandor was coming over! There were so many things to do! She hooked up her phone to a mini Bluetooth speaker and danced around the room as she put things back in place. Music made cleaning go by a lot faster. <em>Sandor would probably have something sarcastic to say if he were here</em>. She felt herself beaming; she missed him all the time... And he was coming over! </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She made up her bed into a cleanly nest, even going so far as to strip four of the blankets off because she knew Sandor overheated easily. The blankets were shoved carelessly into the closet, overtop of her second shoe collection. <em>What she doesn’t see, she can’t complain about, </em>thought Sansa of what her mother would have to say about the lack of organization.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then there were clothes laying around... and a plate with stale crumbs from the lemon cake downstairs, along with two empty teacups that needed to find the sink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shoved her clothes back into the drawers, she put her primary pairs of shoes onto the rack on her closet door and her makeup back into its bag. She lit the string lights. They set the mood so much nicer than the overhead lighting, or the lamps on her desk and nightstand. The color she chose was lilac and it turned the yellow flowers on her dominant blanket a soft purple. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glanced at her bag from where it was sitting in the chair before her desk. How close Sandor had come... <em>Ugh</em>, it made her cringe. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Sandor should be here soon</em>, she thought. And then her phone rang! Sansa darted to pick it up. ¨Sandor, I was just—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s Sandor?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sansa’s breath caught in her throat.</span> <span class="s1">The voice over the line was cold and pitchy and it made her feel like there were bugs crawling around on her skin. There were so many things that she wanted to say, that she <em>should’ve</em> said, but they were stuck on a lump in her throat. </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Hello</em>? Who the fuck is <em>Sandor</em>?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I told you to leave me alone,” she said helplessly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you? I don’t—“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sansa hung up. No caller ID. <em>Figures</em>. Her room wasn’t usually so cold.</span> <span class="s1">She made her way to the window cautiously, as though a serial killer was hiding behind the curtain. When she pulled it back there was no serial killer, no one at all, in fact... but she didn’t hesitate to lock the window tightly.</span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She locked her bedroom door next, even though only Bran and Rickon were home. Only when she finally felt safe and alone did she strip off her pajamas. Her previous outfit was probably fine... but she didn’t want Sandor to think that it was just <em>fine</em>, or that <em>she</em> was just <em>fine</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">She didn’t usually match her underclothes... but just in case. Joffrey seemed to like it when her underwear matched... maybe Sandor would, too? </span> <span class="s1">The mirror on the back of her door made her legs look longer, she was sure of it. </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The panties that she picked were light pink and hardly covered her bottom. He’d probably never see them, Sansa assumed, at least not tonight... but they made her feel a bit more confident. The top that she chose was the same pink color, mesh covering her breasts and a satin border outlining them. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Her boobs weren’t very big... and while Sansa thought it was convenient to have smaller boobs and dress <em>up</em> her cleavage, it felt a bit deceiving. She really hoped that Sandor would find her as sexy as she found him. Granted, she’d never actually <em>seen</em> his body... </span> <span class="s1">but she’d felt him. And the map that she’d created with the help of her hands and her imagination had painted a very attractive man in her mind.</span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Obviously the sexiness of his form was, as of right now, not truly applicable... but there were things she <em>did</em> know that made her heart ache for him. He was impressively thoughtful... even if he refused to believe it. He was a bit quiet around other people but when the two of them were alone and talking, his intelligence was apparent. His manners were rather rough around the edges... and he didn’t seem to know very many of the gentlemanly things that she expected him </span> <span class="s1">to know... but he, without fail, never broke even the slightest of promises. And he was... well... <em>beautiful</em>.</span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Of course, he’d cringed when she said that about him... but it was how she truly felt. She would call him <em>handsome</em> if his security depended on it, but it wouldn’t have been her word of choice. His long, wavy black hair was <em>beautiful</em>... and his glimmering gray eyes were <em>beautiful</em>. Sansa had some opinions about his nose and its awkward hook at first, symmetry-obsessed art major that she was, but now it was just another feature that made him unique. The twisted grimace that he always carried around was a bit questionable, but they would work on it. After all, he was smiling more each day that passed. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The scars were... well, they were certainly <em>stunning</em>, that was for sure. Sansa’d never been with (or even crushed on) anyone who had such a profound flaw. <em>No no... not a flaw... a... deformity? Oh god</em>. She honestly tried not to talk about his burns at all because she was afraid that something she would say would cause another emotional outburst on his part. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she first saw the burns, they were weird-looking at best. She felt horrible about herself for thinking such a thing, but they <em>were</em> rather hard to ignore. It was impossible to convey the way she felt about the scarring to him, of course, as it would surely be crushing. Especially because of the way he acted around her when they were just <em>acquaintances</em>... shy, like she was some celebrity and he was undeserving of even looking at her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The burning on his face was prominent and she’d be lying if she said that it didn’t mean anything to her... but she <em>never</em> thought that he was ugly. At the fear of insulting him, Sansa would refrain from saying that the scarring was <em>beautiful</em>, whether or not she’d grown fond of how the shade of the burns made his eyes stand right out... his black hair, too. And she was happy that he kept his facial hair well-groomed, as it’d tickled her cheeks and nose on instances with other men. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And... she hadn’t seen him without clothes yet. Sansa stilled in front of the mirror. There were so many questions— Was the hair on his body thicker than the hair on his head? And... did the hair grow on his feet as well? Because <em>that</em> would be an issue. What color were his nipples? Did he have any freckles? Did he shave <em>down there</em>? And was he an innie or an outie? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa twisted her legs together like a ballerina and spun around... still clad only in her underwear. Her hips were a bit wider than her chest... which created a disproportion about which she was often insecure. There wasn’t <em>much</em> excess weight on her but where there was, it was in her hips and bottom. <em>Too many lemon cakes</em>, she thought. <em>But guys are supposed to like curvy girls, aren’t they?</em> She hoped that Sandor was one of those guys. He must’ve been, right? They’d been dating for a couple of weeks now... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa turned into her pants drawer. She put on her favorite pair of jean shorts... but shimmied out of them just as quickly. It was nearly eight, they weren’t going out, why be less than comfortable? She pulled a pair of grey, cotton lounging shorts up onto her hips. <em>These are a match</em>. They made her butt look really nice, Sansa thought. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over the mesh bra, she put on a fitted <em>Rolling Stones</em> cropped top. It cut off very comfortably at her belly button. White lettering came off of the black fabric, and a suggestive tongue seemed to roll right out of the fluorescent red lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hoped Sandor would like it... Knowing that he was rather slow where sexual attention was concerned, Sansa assumed they wouldn’t be going very far tonight. Not when he seemed to require explicit permission just to <em>hug</em> her, and even then he always looked confused and frightened. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was hopeful that they would at least go a little farther than they had, which summed up to making out and awkward dry humping. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smiled at her reflection. Finally, she pulled her hair out of its ponytail and it spread out all around her shoulders. She pushed her feet through fuzzy pink slippers, grabbed her phone and made her way to Bran’s door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bran,” she knocked, ear against the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opened it and poked his head out, eyebrows raised expectantly. Rickon was perched on a floor cushion, a handheld console stealing all of his attention. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you guys going to be alright if Sandor comes over?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he replied. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you eaten?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded. “There were chicken tenders in the freezer. I heated some up for us,” Bran gestured to himself and Rickon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. We’ll be around the house. Let me know if you need anything.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bran nodded and closed the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa ran downstairs, nearly slipping on the unfamiliar slippers. She strolled into the kitchen and leaned over the island, opening a bag of Lemonheads and scrolling her phone until doorbell rang. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He was supposed to text me first</em>, she thought, expecting her worst nightmares behind the stained glass. Sansa crept around to peak through the window just to make sure that it wasn’t the anxiety-induced serial killer she’d dreamed up. Or worse. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Sandor! The porch lights were off unfortunately, but she could see in his silhouette that he was holding a little bouquet of flowers. When Sansa pulled the front door open, he was struggling to press the small buttons on his phone— probably to let her know that he was here. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor gave her a once-over and his eyes widened. He shoved the phone into his pocket and handed over the flowers. She watched as a blush crept over one cheek. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Sandor,” she said, consciously softening her expression as she brought the bouquet to her nose. The flowers he’d picked were pink, yellow and white. She couldn’t name the species but her parents would probably be able to; she would have to ask them later. Sansa hoisted herself onto the counter, feet dangling off the edge. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded curtly and stepped inside. He was rather awful at accepting compliments and, in general, expressions of gratitude. Before he could come any further, Sansa pointed to the shoe rack, clutching the bouquet over her chest. Sandor rolled his eyes as he fumbled with his worn sneakers. He hung his heavy coat on the hanger and approached her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa put her hand out to stop him, holding the flowers protectively. “You were late,” she said, giving him a teasing evil eye. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s eyebrows furrowed madly, his mouth fell open and he pointed a finger at himself. “I was late?” he asked, then turned the finger towards her accusingly. “You’ve not <em>once</em> showed up to my flat by the times you promised. Do you know what it’s like to wait around for you? No. Fifteen minutes late and you just stroll inside, coming through like it’s <em>your</em> apartment,” he waved his hands around angrily. “And besides,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “I didn’t even give you a time!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Between amusement and shock Sansa was breathless. She had to put the bouquet down so that she could stop her stomach from heaving. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you laughing at?” Sandor grumbled, looking even less amused, if that was possible.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa rubbed her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. I was just joking,” she said, biting her lip so she didn’t start cracking up again. She gestured to the flowers behind her. “They really are beautiful. Thank you. And come here so I can hug you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor huffed and braced his hands on the edge of the counter, leaning over to peck her on the lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">When he tried to draw away from her, Sansa held him</span> <span class="s1"> in place with her arms around his neck. Sandor grumbled again against her lips and shuffled his feet. He pulled back from her slightly after a moment, turning her leg and pulling her by the side against his hips. He returned his lips to hers, one hand on the counter’s edge and the other on her side. </span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a bit unusual, Sansa thought. Perhaps unexpected, that he would choose to hold her in a bridal position instead of something less... <em>innocent</em>. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor ran his thumb along the exposed part of her waist, sending a simmering jolt through her chest. She nibbled on his lower lip and he began panting, practically, leaning in for more of her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smirked between their kisses. When she pushed him back by the chest, his eyes were dark and his lips were pink and puffy. She dragged her palm over his heart briefly and wiggled off of the counter top. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she laughed at his flustered reaction, Sandor bit his swollen lip and stepped back from her. A lump appeared and disappeared in his throat and he glanced around the room, looking anxious. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s laughter died in her throat and she put her hand out onto his forearm. “No, I was just... I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise.” She glanced up at his leaden eyes and tilted her head back. “It was only because you looked cute,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite being an attempt to make him more comfortable, it seemed that the opposite happened. Sandor looked even more alarmed, having no idea what to do with such a remark. Aside from his eyebrows raising up high, he was little more than an ice statue in front of the door. For a moment, she wasn’t even sure that he was breathing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Cute</em>...?” he asked, stiff and motionless. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shook her head. “Handsome.” <em>Maybe he would like that more?</em> It was an attempt to not make him feel unmanly by calling him ‘beautiful,’ but the uncertainly was plain in her voice. She scratched the back of ear quickly and glanced to the side. “You look handsome.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The expression on his face relayed to her that he <em>had</em>, in fact, sensed the uncertainty in her compliment. In fact, he wasn’t having it at all. He removed her hand from his wrist and backed up further, growing red and huffing unhappily. “I don’t need you to lie,” he grumbled. “<em>Cute</em> was already a stretch but—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Sansa protested, chasing over to him. “It wasn’t a lie... I just thought you might like it more if I called you handsome... because...” <em>Where were the words? </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean you were just saying what you thought I wanted to hear?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa froze, caught red-handed. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor leaned in. “That’s what a lie <em>is</em>, Sansa.” He twisted away, trying to find his way back to his shoes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This was <em>not</em> the evening she was looking forward to. And only five minutes in? <em>No, no no no.</em> She followed Sandor to where he was going to retrieve his shoes. “No, Sandor, that’s not what I meant and you know it,” she insisted.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do I?” he asked, reaching down to open the flaps for his feet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa stepped on top of his sneakers before he could put them on, leaning against the wall to keep her balance while she teetered over his shoes. “Well... you <em>should</em>. I told you what I thought of you, didn’t I?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor frowned, shaking his head. “You needed three drinks to spew that saccharine shit.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No I didn’t,” Sansa shot back coldly. When he tried to tug his shoes in with his feet, she leaned forward and pushed on his chest, keeping him away from the shoes with all her might. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was still for a long time, staring into her... and then to the hands she had on his chest... and then he was <em>chuckling</em> at her! It started as a short, rebellious <em>hmph</em> and he unsuccessfully fought himself until it turned into a distinct laugh. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze back to their feet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor, stop,” said Sansa as he gave another pull for his sneakers. She tried to still him with firm hands on his shoulders. When he finally looked at her, she was firm. “I <em>wasn’t</em> lying.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His frown deepened and the burned corner of his mouth twitched. He opened his mouth but Sansa pressed a finger to his lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It <em>wasn’t</em> a lie,” she insisted. “I mean it, and you have to <em>know</em> that I mean it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Consciously or not, Sandor was beginning to let her guide him, stiff as a board, away from the door and push him against the opposite wall. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>are</em> handsome, Sandor,” said Sansa as she leaned her legs against his, gently rubbing the heel of her hand beneath his heart. “And you came all this way to see me. Please don’t go.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The anger in his eyes melted away... and soon his frown settled back into indifference. His tight poise softened under her palm and she wrapped her arms around him excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Hold on while I put these in water,” she said, darting away with the bouquet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And when it was settled, she grabbed the bag of lemonheads off the table and brought Sandor upstairs. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So my dad says you’ll be starting for him tomorrow,” said Sansa, shutting the door. No one would be coming in, but it was habitual for most of the Stark children to keep their doors shut. Her parents, however, kept their door open more often than not, which Sansa had always been grateful for. It was an invitation; when they needed something, their parents would always be there. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Sandor agreed curtly, clearly still upset about their dispute from downstairs. He was still standing awkwardly stiff by her desk while she pushed her fuzzy slippers back into the closet. They weren’t really necessary anymore. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa leaned up onto her tippy-toes to kiss his burned cheek. He really seemed to like when she kissed that side of his face and he also really liked that she had to make herself taller to do so. Though— she wasn’t usually sure, based on his odd explanation of the nerve damage, which places he could feel her kissing him through the scar tissue.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he <em>really</em> liked cuddling— more than any of her previous boyfriends. Based on his starvation for intimacy, the partners that he’d been with before were not adept at snuggles... but Sandor never expressed real inexperience. It was an intuitive activity, cuddling, and his senses were very keen in that regard. It seemed he could just cuddle all through the day...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It put her off sometimes, however, when he never made a move to do anything <em>more</em> than cuddling. It felt good enough on its own, sure, but obviously Sansa wanted to do more than that. How much cuddling before the next step? She still hadn’t even seen him shirtless— at least, not really. (She didn’t count the beach scenario because he’d been almost completely concealed by the darkness.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At first, Sansa thought that maybe he was trying to be considerate... to hold back his desires... And that as sweet and all, since most of her ex-boyfriends weren’t like that... but Sandor didn’t have anything left to prove. It was obvious that he wanted to (he was hard as a rock literally every time they shared the briefest intimate contact) but the only moves he ever made on her were acts of mischief in disguise. Every time they came close to getting into something serious, his body would completely freeze up.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor still wasn’t relenting to her attentions. Sansa choked back an agitated sigh and rested her hands just above his hips, smoothing her thumbs over his pelvic bone through the cotton sweatpants. She leaned up onto her toes again to persuade him with a few more kisses; above the jaw, below the ear, over thin scarring at the nape of his neck... She brought her fingertips behind his back, to search for the seamless dip of his spine over the long sleeve. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smiled to herself victoriously as Sandor let his face fall onto her shoulder. His arms clasped loosely at her lower back and he let out a great sigh against her neck. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">“Lemonhead?” she asked him, grabbing a yellow candy out of the bag on the desk and presenting it in front of Sandor’s face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">His eyes were very dark, and obviously the question was taking a while to register. After a long moment and then took the sphere from her, and popped it into his mouth. He tried to relax, but n no time, his lips were quivering and his eyes went squinty. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">“Oh come <em>on</em>, Sandor, it is <em>not</em> that sour,” said Sansa, sucking briefly on her own candy before biting through the crisp sugar shell. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">“Maybe it’s just you,” he suggested, his face still messed up from the tang. “What are you, an alien? Anyone who likes to eat plain lemon wedges is <em>different</em>.” </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">Sansa laughed, nearly choking as some of the sour candy slipped down her throat. “If you think everyone who likes lemons is an alien, you’ve got a lot of aliens walking around you.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa tugged on his hand and led him towards the bed and when he was settled, she rolled onto her side to snuggle up to him. She swept his hair away and leaned her lips onto his neck, her arm returning to rest around his back. There was something about his scent that was always quick to intoxicate her, to make her head spin and her eyelids heavy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor ground his leg between hers, curling fervidly against her. He was always so... <em>guarded</em>... but here, these few times that they cuddled and kissed and achieved some level of intimacy, he wasn’t. Here, he was much more open, and the realization that she was responsible for that distinction made Sansa beam. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolled them over to straddle one of his thighs, hovering on her arms above his face. The purple lighting made the scarred side of his face look strange. Well— it was already very obscure, but the lighting emphasized his scars significantly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dark spots looked like the craters of the moon... deep-looking pits of indigo surrounded by lighter lavender-shaded lines.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa traced her finger over one of the purple craters below his eye and he gulped, but didn’t pull away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>How could a </em>brother<em> do something so vile?</em> she wondered. She could remember many times that Arya had infuriated her... but Sansa would <em>never</em> hurt her, or any of her other siblings, on purpose— and she was quite certain that that was mutual. So, to comprehend that someone who bore the title of ‘sibling’ could do something like <em>this</em> made her stomach turn, and her heart leapt for him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And to have a father that didn’t even protect him? She was horrified to consider the standards in which his family had defiled. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa lowered herself to his chest, her hands anchoring his hair to the bed, andpulled his upper lip between hers. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The burned corner of his mouth strained as she tugged at it. It felt leathery against her lips... tight and smooth, but raised and rough at the same time. She rubbed one thumb over a soft eyebrow while the other grazed the coriaceous skin where his other eyebrow should’ve been. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she pulled back, he let out a heavy breath that allowed his chest to relax significantly; it was as though the oxygen had been caged. <em>Oh god, he’s so nervous.</em> </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa took the opportunity to scoop up his hands and snug them against her waist. She smiled at him when he looked up at her with evident insecurity, and he didn’t seem to breathe as he slipped his hands <em>just</em> under her cropped top, running his thumbs over her last rib.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feeling of him pressed against her leg was maddening and, combined with the sensation of his fingers on her bare skin, made her dizzy and lightheaded. She closed her eyes... and when she opened them again, she noticed that the lilac lights had turned Sandor’s eyes purple as well. <em>They were usually gray, his eyes... the color of a wolf’s coat and the shade of the sky after a thunderstorm</em>. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they were purple now, contrasting sharply with the black hair splayed across her pillow. The hue of his eyes was much lighter than that of the craters all over his cheek, but nothing could’ve taken away their depth.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa leaned in to draw his lips between hers again while he grazed over her skin with his fingertips. He was a clumsy kisser for someone who seemed so focused in everything he did: his nose always found hers gracelessly (and when it wasn’t his nose, it was his forehead), his hair was always in his face— and when they kissed, it was in her face as well— and he never knew where to put his hands. Not only did he not <em>know</em> where to put them, but he rarely tried to put them anywhere, just resorted to not touching her at all. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was a quick learner, however, and his passion certainly counted for something. He was unexpectedly thoughtful, too. The flowers he’d brought her... <em>how sweet of him!</em> Perhaps he was more gentlemanly than she thought. She would have to find a way to return the gesture. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pulled back and he looked at her expectantly, starting to withdraw his hands from her waist. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shook her head, gathering his hands and curling them around the fabric of her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s stare was unwaveringly blank, and he made no move to follow her insinuations, or even imply that he understood them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bit back a sigh. <em>Does he really not get it?</em> She flipped her hair to one side and hovered closer, loosening her shoulders in preparation of being undressed. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa held her breath to resist any impolite commentary. She clasped her hands around his and pulled them up just slightly enough to make it apparent that she wanted him to take her shirt off. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor froze and for the third time, did nothing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa huffed and sat back on his thighs. “Do you not want to?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath that made his shoulders stiffen, hands still perched at her waist. “I do,” he said, nodding shortly. He opened his mouth to say something else but closed it just as quickly and made for her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time, Sansa stopped him. “What is it?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” said Sandor, reaching to pull up her tank top. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa swatted his hand. “Tell me,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nothing,” he insisted gruffly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you don’t want to—“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pulled her by the waist and yanked her onto her side. In the middle of her sentence, too! The <em>audacity</em>. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was useless, however, because no sooner than he’d pulled her to the side had she needed to hoist herself up again. It looked like Sandor was holding his breath, so deep in concentration, as he pulled the cotton top over her bralette... over her arms... and off of her head. He threw it across the room. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor!” she scolded. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widened at her reaction and he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, uh...” he started twisting away but Sansa caught his hand. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she smiled, saddened that he couldn’t see that she’d only been joking... that he didn’t understand that he didn’t have to be sad and scared when they were in bed together, that it was supposed to be <em>fun</em> for <em>both</em> of them. “Stay.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t need very much convincing to lay down beside her, but he looked as confused as ever. And he was incredibly delicate as he ran his fingers over the mesh. His eyes were heavy-lidded and glittering as he slid a hand gently down her bare waist. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor leaned in slightly... and then drew back, shooting his gaze to her eyes expectantly. Sansa smiled at him and brushed her hair out of the way encouragingly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was outrageously overdressed, she thought. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor leaned in and pressed his lips to the upper inside corner of her breast. Before long, his body half-covered hers; a leg between her legs, a hand firmly placed in the center of her back to keep her put and the other hand locked in a tight grip over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Twice, Sansa had to inform him that he was hurting her shoulder and both times it almost ended the entire date. Sandor would recoil abashedly and refuse to touch her again until he was properly reassured that everything was okay. Not even just <em>okay</em>, to be exact; he settled for no less than her relief that everything was <em>perfect, </em>that she really, <em>truly</em> <em>wasn’t</em> upset with him; that she <em>really, truly</em> was <em>not</em> lying about not being upset with him, and that she really, <em>really</em> did <em>not— </em>much emphasis on ‘not’ was necessary— want him to leave. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was rather sensitive where their physical differences were concerned. Sandor was clumsy, sure, but he never <em>really</em> hurt her— though when she’d told him as much, it was obvious that he didn’t believe her. He always behaved as if she was out to get him, conspiring to cause him more pain. She supposed it wasn’t impossible to understand why that was, however, since two of the most important people in his life been responsible for his irreversible suffering.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sucked her skin over the see-through bra as gently as he could muster... which turned out to be much more exhilarating than Sansa expected. She was used to faking her pleasure to cater to her ex-boyfriends... but the delicacy in which Sandor touched her elicited a tingling, ticklish sensation that caused naught but genuine reactions. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tilted her head back so that he could have more access to her if he pleased. <em>And he did please</em>. He leaned in and brushed over her throat with his lips, gripping her arm like his life depended on it. The tips of his long hair tickled her skin pleasantly as he moved his head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every so often Sandor would glance up and gauge her reaction, checking to ensure that he was being well-received. He’d done nothing very daring as of yet, however, but maybe he was just really into foreplay. His kisses were feather-light; he sucked gently over her bra and explored her with the gentlest touch that his fingers could handle. Maybe he was right in overheating in her bed, there really were far too many blankets.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hadn’t even touched her nipples yet, and even worse: he was still clad in a long sleeve. <em>Why does he always wear long sleeves? </em>She’d been wanting him to take his shirt off for days, but she was aching to see him now. Truly, the long sleeves left far too much up to the imagination.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pushed his head back from the side of her throat and tugged on his collar. He was, of course, incredibly alarmed that he’d been stopped and was surely assuming the worst. “Take this off,” she said, realizing after the fact that the voice she’d used sounded much different than her own. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor went back onto his knees and she utilized the time to reposition her bra more comfortably. It was sexy, but there was a bump in the back wire that irritated her skin and, since she wasn’t sure how well Sandor could even <em>see</em> it under the dim purple lights, it might not have been worth it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sat for a long moment where he just held the hem of his shirt, his arms crossed in preparation, staring off blankly... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa patted the outside of his leg. “Is everything ok?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said, and pulled the shirt up around his shoulders, yanked his arms out of the sleeves and chucked it across the room as he’d done with hers. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His torso looked as hard as it had felt. There was a patch of fine black hair extending down his chest in a line that crept suggestively into his sweatpants. It wasn’t quite as heavy as the hair on his head, which Sansa was grateful for. There were a few speckles that darkened under the purple light and she imagined that they must have been freckles. It was hard with the purple lighting, however, to accurately determine the shade of his nipples. His stomach was defined in a way that made her achey, but Sandor was anything but obnoxious... and he was an innie. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She snatched his hand and pulled him slowly back on top of her. His hair caught between their faces when Sansa tried to kiss him and she started laughing and, to her surprise, Sandor began laughing too. She pushed the hair, which had been concealing his maze of burns, back behind his ear and their eyes locked. The laughter died out rather abruptly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s pupils were dilated, expanding and contracting rapidly inside a pot of molten silver, and there was a purple highlight glowing off from beneath his lashes. His mouth was open and his breath was ragged... his skin was burning beneath her fingers, yet somehow he was shivering... His jet-black hair was loose around his shoulders again and his burned skin was dark, the shade of an eggplant. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Sandor wanted to spend every day cuddling, then so be it. Flaw, deformity or not, he was absolutely stunning and she wouldn’t‘ve had him any other way... She tilted her head up and pecked him on the lips, fast as a blink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked dazed when she pulled back and Sansa started laughing again. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. “What?” he grumbled. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look like— you know those cartoon characters?” asked Sansa. “The ones who have a star-halo floating around their head after being struck by a dumbbell or other heavy things like that?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed exasperatedly. “You know what you look like?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa prepared for his wrath. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor leaned in. “Never mind. It’s a secret.” He was closing his eyes for more kisses when she covered his face with her hand. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do I look like?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor frowned. He turned back briefly, just to make sure that absolutely no one was there and nodded, leaning near her ear. “You look like...” he whispered... and she waited... and waited...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Ew</em>!” Sansa yelped and darted away. He stuck his <em>tongue</em> in her ear! She rubbed furiously at it with the back of her hand. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile Sandor was dumbstruck, laughing breathlessly and clutching his belly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re disgusting!” she growled. “I can’t believe you put your tongue in my <em>ear</em>!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor wiped his mouth off with his forearm. “Why not?” he asked, his voice raspy from how hard he’d been laughing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa huffed. <em>Boys</em>. She’d curled up against the corner wall when he was crawling back over her. “Stay away!” she said, pushing his shoulder back when he tried to kiss her. “You think I want you to kiss me? You just <em>licked</em> the inside of my <em>ear</em>!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pouted. “You’re the one who kept pestering me,” he argued. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because you told me that I looked like something and refused to tell me what! And I still don’t know!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You obviously weren’t listening,” Sandor insisted. “I can tell you again if you want me to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa held a straight face, avoiding his eye contact and taking to ignoring him. He kept trying to get her attention and when she let out a strangled laugh, it was over. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I knew it,” Sandor said, clasping her waist and pulling her under his chest. She play-fought him the whole time, struggling and laughing and kicking his shins with her toes. He planted kisses over her neck and collar even while she pushed at his chest. It was hard to fight him though... his skin was so warm against hers...</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fake protesting became <em>very</em> difficult, however, when he intertwined their fingers and pinned her hands above her head... And when he hovered above her face, searching her eyes to figure out whether or not she was being serious about finding him disgusting, Sansa stretched her neck up to place her lips against his. She did <em>not</em> approve of him licking her ear... but it wasn’t so bad that she’d prefer him feeling terrible about himself. Certainly not bad enough to end their date over. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa had thought that they might have gone a bit farther, but his nervousness about the whole thing rang sweet in her ears. If he wanted to go slowly, then that was fine. They wouldn’t have to go very far at all in the near future if shirtless cuddling continued being so satisfying. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wouldn’t have moved at all had the front door not sounded, indicating that her parents had returned. After that, it was pretty much over... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sure, Sansa wasn’t prohibited from having sex with her boyfriends (how could she be? She was <em>twenty-one</em>!) but there were three too many little siblings wandering around at all hours to risk getting too serious at home. She really, <em>really</em> needed to move out... but it seemed an enormous step; an unfamiliar, irreversible and very permanent step into utter independence that she wasn’t sure she was ready for. And it didn’t help that her parents weren’t exactly pushing her out of the house... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can sleep over again if you want to,” she whispered against Sandor’s cheek. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know I want to,” grumbled Sandor. “But I have work tomorrow and I need a good night’s sleep.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did the room get quieter?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you mean?” asked Sansa suspiciously. “A ‘good night’s sleep’ as opposed to what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never mind. I shouldn’t have—“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you mean ‘a good night’s sleep?’” Sansa persisted. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well...” Sandor scratched his scalp. “I slept terribly the other night,” he admitted. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Terribly?” Sansa’s heart sank. She could only imagine how pitiful her face looked like under the purple lights. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor brushed the outside of her arm. “It’s not your fault, I swear. It’s just,” Sandor gave a short <em>hmph</em> of laughter, “it’s really hard sleeping so close to you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was hard not to be upset by this news as she’d been so excited for their next sleepover. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well...” she began, “that’s awful.” Sansa rubbed her temples, inching very slightly away from him. “Was it <em>really</em> bad?” She’d had a horrible night too, but thus was a night of drinking; those nights were always miserably sleepless. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not <em>really</em> bad,” said Sandor, shaking his head nonchalantly. “It’s just difficult, if you know what I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”I don’t,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Oh.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Excuse me?</em> “Do you want to elaborate?” asked Sansa, acutely aware of the venom in her voice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing to elaborate.” He shifted towards her; obviously unaware that she’d been trying to move <em>away</em> from him. “Besides, really don’t give a damn. I’ll take shitty sleep for the rest of my life over not sleeping next to you,” he said, his tone indicating that there wasn’t really much left to consider. “Just not tonight. I’ll not be late on my first day.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa nodded. Of course he had a right to not want to be late, even though she knew that her father wouldn’t penalize him; he would probably just be teased for it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor ran his knuckles over her shoulder. “But next weekend...” He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck and all over again it was difficult to be upset with him. “It’s you and me, next weekend... if you want.” He slipped his fingers into her hair and nudged loose locks behind her ear. “My apartment or here, whichever you prefer.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa curled her arms into herself. “We can have a...” she stopped. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um...” Sansa averted her eyes to his shoulder. “Well you said your apartment or here... but maybe... we could do both...? Like... a <em>double</em> sleepover? But if you’re having trouble sleeping then... well, I don’t want you to lose two nights in a row...” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor paused, looking at her thoughtfully. Sansa thought that she could see the unburnt corner of his lips curl up in the subtlest suggestion of a smile... but then it ended. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know,” Sandor said, “I wasn’t messing with you when I said that I don’t give a fuck about the quality of my sleep. If you want me to stay here tonight, then to hell with it. I’d probably be more guaranteed to wake up on time in the home of my own boss, wouldn’t I?” Sandor chuckled to himself. “I’ll warn you though: I haven’t got any spare clothes and I’m not sleeping in these sweats when your bed is already a sauna. And I didn’t bring a toothbrush.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Ugh</em>. Sansa’s heart ached. As much as she wanted him to stay exactly where he was, she knew she shouldn’t let him stay over. “You don’t have to do that,” said Sansa. She told him that she had to work tomorrow, which was true, and that it really wasn’t the best night. “This weekend though,” she added, “you’re booked. Don’t make any other plans.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked up at him, hoping that she hadn’t seemed too controlling. If Sandor’s wide-eyed smirk was any indication, however, he wasn’t very offended. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he’d left, Sansa’s room felt much lonelier. The blankets were still improperly ruffled after he’d rolled through like a tornado... and while they wouldn’t be difficult to rearrange to her liking, she left them exactly as they were because... if she thought about it hard enough, she could pretend that he hadn’t left. The reasons for declining his offer to spend the night were now cloudy. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He would’ve stayed if she asked him to, Sansa knew it... Why couldn’t she just let him?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least they would have the weekend to themselves. Or more specifically, the night at Sandor’s apartment... since his night here was certain to get interrupted by at least one Stark. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa glanced at her mirrored reflection briefly as she stretched for a fluffy gray robe. She had been bold answering the door like this: booty shorts and half a shirt— What if it hadn’t been Sandor at the door? That was a reckless decision... but he made her so impulsive! </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took off her bra and threw it towards the hamper.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d really barely touched her, like he was afraid she was going to shatter or something. She imagined herself to look like a pastel purple alien under those string lights, but she’d hardly found him repulsive, scars or not. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was easy when they were together, when she was achey and burning for him, to feel like the scars didn’t mean anything, but they did. They made everything a bit colder. How long did Sandor say that he’d had them? The way that he seemed to feel about his face, he might as well have been burned just yesterday. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">No, those weren’t comparable, were they? If he was burned yesterday then she would’ve done something about it. And if she couldn’t have stopped it then she could’ve at least been there for him. Who was there for him when his face was set on fire? Anyone at all? The thought of him weeping at the hospital with no one, no <em>family</em> there to reassure him that everything would be okay... it made Sansa sick. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa cinched the robe and roamed downstairs where she’d left Sandor twenty minutes ago. He was gone of course, but her parents were sitting across from each other on the couch, smiling at each other over two glasses of wine. A program on tv was on but it was paused. They looked up when she entered the living room. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa,” said her mother, “how was your evening with Sandor?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she answered, leaning against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both stared at her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” said her father, “is something... going on?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa chuckled awkwardly. “Um... well yes actually.” She curled up on a black leather recliner across from them, folding her legs inwards and adjusting the robe accordingly. “So... a few days ago when I was hanging out with Sandor...” She could see him vividly in her head, choking on his own sobs and dragging her fingers over his cheek. Sansa looked down at her fingers, remembering what he felt like. “Well, he told me about... Um... I was just wondering if you guys already knew about his face...” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her parents stared at her blankly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His burns, I mean...” said Sansa. “His family has always lived here— and I know I wouldn’t have been old enough— but surely something like that would spread around town, wouldn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two of them held impassive expressions. Her father cleared his throat and nodded. “We knew,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For how long?” Sansa shuffled forward. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother adjusted her hair and sighed gently. She looked sort of grim. “Well, it made the paper,” she told Sansa. ”Not so much Sandor... but his brother.” She shifted and looked at her husband. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There was a trial,” he explained. “But because his brother was so young, they let him off with a few years of probation, I think. He’s not in jail, that I know.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa hugged herself. “That’s <em>all</em>? Do you think they stayed in the same house together?” She couldn’t imagine <em>living</em> with someone who’d hurt her so badly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her father shrugged; her mother tightened her lips.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”If you want to know, I’m sure he’d tell you,” suggested her father. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shook her head. “I can’t— He can’t. I don’t think that... You should’ve seen him, it was miserable.” Her eyes stung, but she bit it back. “He’s suffering and I don’t know what to do,” she uttered helplessly, her heart aching as she imagined hating her own face as much as he did. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh Sansa,” said her mother sympathetically. “Does he have a therapist?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” she said, playing with her fingers distractedly. “I don’t think so. He’s not very fond of talking about his feelings. And... I’m not so sure that he could afford it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her father nodded slowly and sighed. “I know that you want to be there for him,” he said, “but you can’t let it eat away at you. Lord knows you have enough going on with that spoiled punk. Is he still harassing you? I can talk to Robert, tell him to get that <em>Jof</em>—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ned,” said Sansa’s mother, putting a hand on his forearm. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa had asked them (and everyone else in the household) not to talk about him. On spiteful occasions, Arya forgot about the rule. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” Sansa said. “But speaking of Joffrey, I think I need to get a new phone number. He’s still calling me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother nodded. “Whatever you need.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor’s not like Joffrey,” continued Sansa. “He hasn’t asked <em>anything</em> of me, I just want to know how to be supportive for him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You already <em>are</em> supportive, Sansa,” her mother said. “Just be slow and understanding with him. Don’t push him to talk about things that he’s not ready to talk about. And when he wants to talk, you’ll be there, I know you will. He’s already opened up once, hasn’t he? About his trauma? I’m sure that he’ll open up again because... well, he trusts you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smiled... and then beamed. She could’ve put together that Sandor trusted her by herself, but to hear her parents say so made it feel much more believable. <em>He trusts me</em>, she thought, knowing it to be true. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, please,” said her father. “I know that I can’t stop you from doing so, but please don’t go digging up the case. Like your mother said, he’ll tell you everything that he wants you to know. Just be <em>patient</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother nodded. “If you learn more about it than you’re supposed to, you’ll feel guilty and you know it. You’ve gone through situations like that in the past.” She gave Sansa a knowing look. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I won’t,” Sansa said firmly, already fighting the urge to research once she got back to her room. She wiggled her phone out and sent Sandor two starry pink heart emojis. “I am going to go back upstairs though,” she said as she got up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you need to talk more, we’re here,” said her father. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa nodded, smiling as she turned away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Wait, Sansa,” called her mother, bidding her to turn back around. “He’s really lucky to have someone like you. Really, he is, please remember that.”</span> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Night Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first two days of work were nothing of great interest for Sandor to reflect on. He’d had his orientation with <em>the boys</em>, as Ned had called them. Sandor hated all of them. Ned had given him a tour of the apartment sites, some of which were more desperate for TLC than others. He explained the renovation process and gave Sandor a dated chart to mark off the tasks he completed as he completed them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the third day, he’d gotten to work on his first unit. On that day, Sandor had lined a half-wall with drywall, replenished some minor tile cracks with caulk, installed two smoke alarms and changed seven lightbulbs. The job itself was nothing very taxing— other than the occasional meltdown when a lightbulb burst between his fingers, or when a smoke alarm went off and he couldn’t silence it— but the worst part... was that he wasn’t <em>alone</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Nope. He had a <em>team</em>. A few other men with whom Sandor would renovate units with. It was for efficiency, Ned told him, though that wasn’t even <em>relatively</em> applicable to Sandor’s case.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a lad, <em>Bronn</em>, he called himself— a pompous prick. He strutted around all confident, wearing these ridiculous skinny-fit jeans that did <em>nothing</em> for his figure. He laughed about things that weren’t funny (namely the meltdowns of his crew), he always sang songs that, to Sandor, sounded like they lived and died at his boy scouts club, and he was always <em>talking</em>! Always. Even through his headphones at volume eight, Sandor could still hear Bronn talking. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And then there was this fellow called Tormund— <em>who the fuck named their kid Tormund?</em> Sandor thought that his name was a tad more phonetically pleasing. </span> <span class="s1">Tormund was constantly fawning over some woman whose name Sandor was relieved to keep forgetting. He spouted all these fantasies about how she <em>did</em> love him and she just needed to realize it. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For hours, the two of them would talk about this girl; debating her true feelings for Tormund. Both of them were idiots and Sandor wished that they would get struck by lightning, preferably on the on job so that he could watch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The best part of his third work day... came along when Sansa showed up. She came through the front door smiling and looked around the empty apartment. The other two men in the room acknowledged her entrance with playful hollers and she greeted them by name, offering smiles that made Sandor’s chest feel a bit sunken. He dropped his putty knife and went to see her near the door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa looked warily at his plaster-covered hands: white and chalky and creating little powdery clouds as he moved about. Though she decided, apparently, that he was deserving of a hug and wove her hands under his arms to hold him around the waist. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll go wash my hands,” said Sandor. It was great that she wanted to touch him, but he also wanted to touch her and the plaster was in the way. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he got back, she was daydreaming over a dusty countertop, stroking the metal clasps of a blue lunchbox. Sandor wrapped his arms around her from behind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’d only been three days, but he’d missed the shit out of her. And come Friday, they’d be spending the night together. And the night after that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I brought you lunch,” said Sansa, tapping her fingernails against the metal box in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pushed his nose into her cheekbone. Lunch? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She twisted around in his arms to be more reciprocative of the hug, all smiles with rose-tinted cheeks. “I don’t know if you’ll like it,” she said. “It’s a little... well...” Sansa unraveled his embrace and thrust the blue lunchbox into his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He undid the clasp. There was a sandwich in a little plastic baggy, cheese and crackers, some carrot sticks and a bunch of grapes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She brought him lunch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at her. He knew that she’d been at work too, and this must’ve been her break. And during that break, she’d gone home... and made him <em>food</em>? And brought it to him? Who does that? The notion wouldn’t have occurred to him, ever. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>, why couldn’t he have thought of that? She was always one step ahead of him; always so fucking thoughtful. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wondered if he might be able to keep the lunchbox. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You eat like a rabbit,” Sandor remarked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s cheeks went a deeper shade of red. “I brought some banana bread, too... In case you were still hungry...” She gestured to a second lunchbox, a green one. “Wanna go outside and eat?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not on break yet,” he said, knowing that it was a load of bullshit. Ned had told him that he could choose his lunch break, as all of the other men did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” she said, pulling her lunchbox off the countertop. “I know the boss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They settled down at one of the picnic tables outside of the site and Sandor watched as she unpacked a replica of everything she’d put together for him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On <em>wheat</em>. And the worst part was that the crust was seeded. Health fad crap. As Sandor pulled off the plastic baggy, he witnessed Sansa ripping away the crust from her sandwich. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, don’t like the crust, do you?” he asked sourly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled his eyes at her. Forget eating like a rabbit; she ate like a seven-year-old. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d not had a PB-and-J in years and he would’ve been happy to never have one again, only... this one he could eat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wanted to know all about the first few days of work (even though he’d recited every miserable detail to her over the phone the previous night); she wanted to know about how his coworkers were treating him, if he was being careful with the power tools and if he’d gotten any injuries. And when the subject of work grew dry, she asked if he’d been listening to the orthodontist about his reconstructive retainers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She said that his teeth were <em>looking</em> <em>better and better each day!</em> and that soon enough, he wouldn’t have to wear them anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes I will,” Sandor argued, ripping a grape off the bunch. “Nighttime for lifetime,” he cheered sarcastically. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa glared at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Where she had to fight him to speak in whole sentences, all it took was, “How’ve you been?” for her to open up about everything that had ever happened to her. It was quite easy to tune out her words so that he could stare at her, but her eyes lit up when she talked about certain things and it drew his attention right back in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had to leave eventually, to Sandor’s displeasure, so that she could go back to work. She passed her banana bread across the table and packed everything else back into her lunchbox. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she reached for the blue box, Sandor put his hand on it to stop her. She gave him a curious look. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll... keep it for a while,” he muttered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh... <em>okay</em>,” said Sansa, getting off of the picnic bench and reaffirming that he was to go back inside with his miserable coworkers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wanted a hug and kiss before she left, which he should’ve already been accustomed to. Though Sandor wasn’t nearly as thoughtful as her, he had not forgotten the lesson she’d offered on how to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though it wasn’t just an <em>offer</em>, Sandor knew. It was what she wanted... She <em>wanted</em> forthem not to separate without sharing a kiss... and a hug. She <em>wanted</em> to touch him, and be his girlfriend. Even he was aware that it was one of the simplest gestures of intimacy, that she probably hugged a dozen people every day— though that fact did nothing to quell the tingling in his stomach at her request. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa twirled a lock of his hair in her fingers. “Do you wanna go downtown with me tonight?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Downtown?</em> No. Not at all. “Sure,” Sandor said, and earned himself a smile that made it very clear he’d chosen the right answer. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took but moments after her leave for Sandor to regret his insistence on keeping the lunchbox for a while. Because now, now he had to walk back into the apartment he was renovating with his team... and he had to bring the blasted box. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was baby blue and shining with pink and yellow crosshatch; there wasn’t a flaw to be seen. It didn’t really match his <em>vibe</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund and Bronn were inside; Tormund, screwing cabinet doors in, and Bronn, priming a wall. Sandor kept his lunchbox concealed tightly at his side as he crossed into the living room. Immediately, he could discern that they were talking about that girl that Tormund was obsessed with. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well what the fuck did you expect?” said Bronn. “There’s only so many times you can offer to fuck a woman’s brains out before she punches you in the face.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Most women won’t punch you that hard, that’s the thing,” said Tormund. “Her fists are huge, and when she hit me, I saw stars.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was something of flattery in his voice. Sandor wondered what it would be like if his Sansa punched him in the face. She probably wouldn’t do very much damage, and in some universe it might be charming... though he couldn’t imagine himself enjoying it as much as the oaf in the next room did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re mad,” Bronn laughed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well she didn’t respond the first four times I hit on her. But the fifth time...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor glanced into the kitchen. The idiot was rubbing his cheekbone. <em>What the fuck? </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Four</em> times?” Bronn said, incredulous. “I’ve been your wingman <em>six</em> times, and I’ve seen you confront her another three.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Tormund shook his head, waving his drill at Bronn. “It’s five, I’m telling you. No woman’s worth getting rejected fifteen times.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s what I’ve been <em>telling</em> you. Just let her go, and find someone else. She’s not worth it, mate.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She is,” Tormund said, “and she’ll find that out eventually. I’ve seen the way she looks at me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund barked an <em>ow!</em> and something clattered to the floor. Sandor looked over and saw that he was rubbing his ear; Bronn had thrown a paintbrush at him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucking come over here,” Tormund shouted, crossing the room while Bronn chuckled. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ask the new lad,” Bronn gestured to the living room with a new paintbrush. “He’s with Stark’s daughter. You’ll need all the help you can get if you mean to actually get a date.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund tried to lower his voice, as though Sandor wasn’t just fifteen feet away. “They’re <em>together</em>?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bronn snorted. “Why the fuck else would she come here? You think she wanted to see <em>your</em> ugly face?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My face isn’t any worse than—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bronn cleared his throat. “He’s just as big as you are,” he warned casually. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sized him up. It was true, knocking him out didn’t seem like it would be an easy conquest. Though while it would’ve been nice to beat the shit out of him, it wasn’t worth getting fired on the third day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lad,” called Tormund. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor didn’t look up; he much preferred unscrewing floorboards. He wondered if he could talk to Ned about getting a new team. Tormund mumbled to Bronn in the kitchen, and Bronn returned chuckles. It made Sandor’s heart race in a way that he’d been familiar with long before he met Sansa. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you deaf?” said Tormund. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drill slipped off the screw and hit the back of Sandor’s hand. He swore and squeezed down on the reddening mark.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sandor sneered. “But I’d prefer it to listening to you talk about whatever bitch you’re pining over for eight hours straight.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bitch?” Tormund’s mouth fell open. The room went silent.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bronn approached Tormund hesitantly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The girl isn’t worth it, mate. And neither is another chat with Ned about your conduct.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t preach to me about <em>conduct</em>,” Tormund spat, shoving away Bronn’s hand. And looking back at Sandor, “Call her a bitch again and I’ll—“ He grinned. “How did you get with Sansa anyway? She’s much too beautiful—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“Tormund,” said Bronn, “stop it.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor put down the drill and took a few steps into the kitchen. He could hear his heartbeat <em>everywhere</em>. “Careful,” he growled. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor knew how to <em>fight</em>; he’d been working at it for as long as could remember. Gregor had wanted a punching bag for Christmas, but he’d made use of what he got instead: Sandor. Arguably better than a punching bag, because <em>he</em> could fight back... once he was good enough. He turned out to be the perfect <em>gift</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Well I’m just curious,” Tormund laughed. “Does she let you fuck her with the lights on?” </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor was very enthused about putting Tormund in the hospital, only Bronn was swifter than he looked, and he knocked Sandor off balance before he could get his first punch in.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bronn put an arm in front of Tormund while Sandor picked himself off the floor. “Listen...” Bronn glanced at his watch, “we’ve still got two hours and I have somewhere to be when this is over.” He looked at Tormund, “Brienne’s not into you, it’s not worth a fight, it’s not worth the scrap with Ned, you dumb fuck. Lay off.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bronn was sensible, annoying as he was, but he’d shoved Sandor to the floor. And he’d stopped Sandor from beating the shit out of Tormund. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor had to leave; his blood was boiling and he couldn’t see or hear anything but <em>red</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">But he <em>couldn’t</em> fucking leave. What if Ned showed up? There were still a few hours to go and it was just his third day. Perhaps he wouldn’t be fired, but Sandor couldn’t afford the risk. He didn’t have qualifications of any sort and no one else would hire him. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shook his head, took a deep breath and turned back to the floorboards. And he thought about all of the horrible things he wanted to do to Tormund. He imagined himself to be working alone, as he did best— with no team. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two more hours. And two more days until his weekend with Sansa began.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa,” Sandor sighed dramatically, “can we just go already?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d asked three times in the last two minutes. Why didn’t he understand that it took <em>time</em> to choose the perfect outfit? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, just wait another minute,” she called out through the door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So far she’d tried on three outfits and Sandor critiqued them accordingly each time he was allowed inside her room. Sansa smirked to herself. <em>No he didn’t</em>. He didn’t give any critiques at all! He said that all three were <em>fine</em>, and asked if they could finally leave. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she finally came out, she’d settled on a pale blue wrap-dress that knotted at her waist.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you’re ready now, are you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry that I kept you waiting,” Sansa said. She wasn’t that sorry though... he’d showed up thirty minutes earlier than the time she’d given him. “If you’d gotten here on time, I would’ve been ready.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor laughed. “No you wouldn’t have.” He pulled out his phone and showed her the time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh... She had gone a little over... </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever,” he shrugged and shook his head. “Let’s just go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor had never been very talkative all on his own— in fact, the only time that proved otherwise was when he opened up about his trauma, and nothing about that conversation gave Sansa the illusion that he wanted to talk about any of it. It was much more like he’d been possessed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But his lack of desire for conversation reached a new low during the car ride. He wouldn’t talk about anything; he wouldn’t talk about music or his art, his job or his apartment... just, nothing. At most, he would offer a mumble to acknowledge that Sansa had spoken at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lost count of how many times she asked him what was wrong, even though each time he insisted that everything was fine. After enough attempts he just barked at her to stop asking. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa turned the music up. He obviously wasn’t going to start talking and she had to do something to cut the awkward silence. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she’d finally found a spot and parked in front of a meter, Sandor got out of the car, wordless. Most of the time, she noticed, her hugs brought him outside of his head. He constantly had a tornado of emotions whirling through his entity, and Sansa thought that when they were together... she was able to distract him from his stress.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, trepidatious as she was of stoking whatever troubled him so, she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her ear against his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fleece-lined sweatshirt that he wore softened his torso comfortably. The ex-boyfriends of hers that were muscular like Sandor were pure, egotistical douchebags. They were nowhere near being as cuddlable as him... even if he didn’t always cuddle back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took him a few moments to warm up to her, though after she’d hugged him into a healthy wave of oxytocin, he crossed his arms at her back and let out a heavy sigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor kept silent as they walked together down the streets, past the shops and past dozens and dozens of other people. Even though he didn’t want to talk, she thought that <em>she</em> might be able to talk and let him listen? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa told him about the things that she enjoyed about the little city. She pointed out her favorite places to try clothes on (but never actually buy them); she pointed out the best places to purchase gifts that weren’t touristy; she talked about the record store that opened up, even though no one actually used records anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While he didn’t seem very <em>angry</em>, he also didn’t seem even a little happy to be out, and Sansa questioned whether it was a good idea at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She loved walking around town! She loved being around all the people, and window shopping, and being able to try all of the cuisines that they didn’t offer so close to home. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Sandor... well, of course he wouldn’t like that. He’d shown her time and time again that he didn’t like being around too many people at once, and she thought it was a good idea to take him into the city? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, catching his hand. A foot ahead of her, Sandor halted as well, glancing at his hand and then back to the shops in confusion. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to go home?” she asked. She really didn’t want to go home, as they’d just spent forty minutes in the car, but neither one of them would have fun if he was miserable the whole time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shook his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure?” Sansa asked. “I can drive us back to your apartment; it’s not that far from here— It’s a lot closer than <em>my</em> house, I mean. And I can stay over with you if you want me to, but I would have to duck out pretty early.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They would be having a double sleepover in just two days, but she wasn’t entirely opposed to another night with him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shook his head again. “I’m hungry,” he said casually, after more than an hour of unwavering silence. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa nodded. She ran her fingers over her scalp. “Uh... do you know what you want?” She listed a dozen options for him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shook his head. “You can decide.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tucked her palm into his elbow. <em>Sushi it is</em>. She had been craving sushi. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite him telling her that she could choose, when Sandor saw the sign and realized that it was, in fact, <em>sushi</em> he would be eating, Sansa caught the look of alarm on his face. But he still didn’t say anything. He followed her inside obediently, and he followed her through the narrow aisles obediently. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sat across from each other at a bar-top table. And there was a candle in the center! Sansa loved when they put candles in the centers of tables; it made everything so much cozier. She wondered if Sandor—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh, no, no, no!</em> Sansa snatched the candleholder and extinguished it quickly. She put it at the edge, right behind the basket with the chopsticks and soy sauce. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“Sorry about that,” she said. “I didn’t remember the candles being real here. In most places, they’re the battery-operated ones.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor looked at her for a long time after the candle had gone out. She started to wonder if maybe he had been enjoying the candle, and if she shouldn’t have extinguished it... only, beneath his unshakable eye contact, the unburnt side of his mouth curled up and she realized that he’d given her... a smile! </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A smile</em>, Sansa beamed, because they were so rare with him. How many times had she seen him smile anyway?— A <em>genuine</em> smile; one of true happiness. Once, twice? It was an odd half-smile, as the burned side couldn’t follow along, but it was <em>real</em> and it felt like Christmas morning.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tonight, Sansa promised to herself, she was going to remember not to harass any waitresses for looking at him the wrong way. It would probably be easier without the influence of alcohol... though was never exclusively about the alcohol truthfully. It was about him. <em>No one</em> got to look at him that way; not strangers, not waitresses, not her friends nor even her family. The memory of her sneer made Sansa seethe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took a deep breath. Tonight, she would be calm and collected...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Really, she was going to be perfectly relaxed. And if their waitress happened to give Sandor a look, she would leave a complaint instead of embarrassing him further. He had never admitted that he was embarrassed, but surely she’d just made the situation worse for him. Not this time. Deep breaths, and reminders to be polite when their waitress came over. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was all going to work out fine, only... </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only, the waitress turned out to be a waiter. A waiter, to her dismay, that Sansa knew. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Loras,” she laughed awkwardly. Her plan had completely fallen through. Sansa tried to think of another as she changed her glances frequently between his face and the table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa!” Loras grinned, looking briefly at Sandor as he placed two menus in front of them. “How’ve you been?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She ended the small talk as quickly as she could to order their drinks and, <em>really</em>, get him to leave. When did he start working here anyway? This sushi joint had been her hotspot for... well, nearly forever, and now he was here and ruining it. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d gone to school with Loras for years and while they’d hardly been friends, Sansa had been crazy about him for most of her teenage experience. When Joffrey hadn’t been constant, Loras was, and what little friendship they had had ended because of it. How could she have misread signals so badly that she let herself fall in love with a man who only liked other men? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa felt her face get hot. His proximity was making her a bit nauseoas. She told Loras that they’d have two waters and he smiled and jogged off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he was gone, Sansa let out a deep breath. He would be back eventually, of course. But it was only, what?— An hour out of her lifetime? She couldn’t run away from her problems forever, and Loras Tyrell was the least of her concerns anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile, Sandor’s odd half smile, the asymmetrical twist of his lips that made her heart clench, had been wiped off his face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. What could she have possibly done now? He was so temperamental, and he had a fuse the length of an eyelash.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t even look upset, he just looked indifferent. Like a shell. Like Sandor had just <em>gone</em>, and his body was left behind. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But obviously that wasn’t the case. He was fine just hours ago, so what had happened? How could one person be so on-and-off?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa sighed. “What’s wrong?” she asked as calmly as she could muster despite her annoyance at his mood swings. <em>He’s just as moody as Arya</em>, Sansa thought. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just stared at her. God, he was so difficult. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fine</em>. They perused their menus for a while. Sansa offered to order for him, as long as he pointed to what he wanted. He gestured to the hot and spicy ramen, and she told Loras once he came around again, along with a half-and-half sushi roll for herself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sandor’s game got old quickly. How long was he going to go without talking to her? And what had she possibly done to deserve him ignoring her like this?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d had enough. Unfortunately their table was bar top, and they had stools to sit on instead of a booth, but that didn’t stop Sansa from changing seats to the tall chair to his right. Sandor let her scoot in close and wrap an arm around him, and he didn’t shove her away when she leaned her head against his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Truthfully, she couldn’t trace a single thing that had gone wrong between them, assuming he wasn’t ignoring her because she took too long getting ready. They’d hardly interacted enough for her to upset him!— Just small talk, and Loras. Could he have been jealous...? Sansa didn’t think he’d be so jealous if he knew Loras was gay... And it couldn’t have been so, because he’d been ignoring her since the car ride. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d been quite fine when they ate lunch together... even if he wasn’t particularly excited about her ‘rabbit food.’ And when Sandor got to her house she thought that he’d been a little snarky, but he was usually like that so she didn’t think anything of it. But if she hadn’t done anything to upset him, then maybe something else happened? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shook her arm off and her heart clenched. He stared at her for a long moment before reaching under her stool to pull her closer to him. Her heart clenched even harder. Sansa leapt forward to give him a tight bear hug. His arms were loose around her and his shoulders were slouched, but she really, really didn’t care... because at least he was giving her something. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thought they must’ve looked odd hugging over their stools, especially since their position was unwaveringly still, but she was willing to have people look at her funny if Sandor needed her support. As far as the surrounding customers giving <em>Sandor</em> looks... Nope, that remained unacceptable. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He let out a heavy breath. “My day was fucking awful,” he rasped into her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa kneaded his back softly with her fingertips. “You don’t have to tell me about it yet if you don’t want to,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I tried to make you talk.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor trailed his fingers through the ends of her hair. She didn’t move back when the food arrived. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Loras dropped off Sansa’s sushi rolls to her new seat. He offered an expression that put Sansa on edge, but she was determined not to break the hug until Sandor was okay with it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">He wasn’t entirely <em>talkative</em> during their meal, but there was a huge improvement from before. When Sansa asked him questions, he responded, irritably as usual... but he was still responding. Although, he downright refused to talk about why his day had been so bad. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It turned out that Sandor <em>shouldn’t</em> have gotten the spicy ramen. Because they’d only gotten iced water... which Sansa knew did nothing to quell the burn on his tongue. She ran to get him a soda from the bar... but that only worked for a couple of swigs before the capsaicin had struck again, harder than at first. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And <em>then</em> he decided to tell her that he didn’t actually like spicy food. That it was just ‘another sort of fire.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa switched plates with him. She couldn’t think of any good reason why he would order himself something spicy knowing that he couldn’t handle spicy food, but the ramen wasn’t overwhelming for her. He’d done fine with the tofu from their pad thai and he would have to do with her tofu crunch roll if he intended to eat at all. Still, Sandor spent a ridiculous amount of time eyeing the sushi suspiciously before allowing it to enter his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sort of, coughed— and then a huge lump went down his throat and he hacked again. Sansa couldn’t stop herself from laughing, even if she knew it was rude. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This isn’t worth the <em>hype</em>,” Sandor complained, making a sour face as he chugged some of his soda. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa finished half of the spicy ramen, and Sandor was able to reluctantly consume almost the whole sushi roll. Though his method was to unroll it, which was horrific for Sansa to watch, and eat the parts individually. Mostly he ate the rice. He gave the tofu a go, and the avocado... but he never touched the seaweed. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Originally she’d planned on bringing the leftover sushi home, but not after the atrocities Sandor had committed against it. And he wanted no part of the spicy ramen. She got the bill for them, despite several protestations, and she beamed because they left hand in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The streets were just as crowded as before, though the remains of the sunlight had gone and the light was artificial all around. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first stop was a liquor store. Honestly, Sansa thought it would cut some of his edge, as he’d been a blast when they’d drank together before. Well.... maybe not a blast; maybe <em>she’d</em> been the blast... But either way, <em>she’d</em> be driving them home and that was no reason for him not to be able to drink— especially if it was going to help him relax. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rang up some nips, which Sansa noticed were... mango, apple and watermelon? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fruity,” she laughed to herself. She’d only seen him drink wine, though she’d expected his taste to be a bit different.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled his eyes and cashed out. He liked vodka, apparently, and that’s what he got. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was a <em>fast</em> drinker, Sansa observed, having downed four of the minis and halfway through the next before an hour had passed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Slow down,” she told him, “it’s not going to run away from you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded hesitantly and handed over the unopened bottles, tucking the rest of his mango vodka into his sweatshirt pocket. She kept the drinks in her bag while they went into stores.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa took him into a few clothing shops, though he was a miserable nuisance. He banged on her dressing room door while she changed, he fancied himself a hat model, presuming to try on every single hat that he could, and he knocked down two racks of dresses! <em>And</em> he was talking so loudly... even Sansa couldn’t defend the looks that people were giving him. But those were of a different nature; they had nothing to do with his trauma, she believed. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Needless to say the two of them were asked to leave. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After some walking beyond the downtown streets, they came upon a wishing fountain at the entrance of a park. Water was flowing off of a mermaid’s tail on one end and from her palm at the other. The bottom of the fountain was barely visible through the layer of rusty coins, though Sansa thought that it could use another penny or two. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She offered Sandor a shiny copper. “Do you want to make a wish?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He examined the penny closely, and without a word, chucked it into the water. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa slapped his arm. “You didn’t even make a wish!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you know?” said Sandor, scratching the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I do.” She narrowed her eyes. “You have to pay tribute,” Sansa informed him, raising her chin and crossing her arms. “I dare you to stick your head in the fountain.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was just a joke... She didn’t think he would actually do it...</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Again, <em>wordlessly</em>, Sandor shrugged and bent to grip the edge of the fountain. He displayed no hesitation before sticking his head into the crystal water, but when he came up, he shook his head towards the cement frantically. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck! It’s freezing!” Sandor howled, drawing his hands into his hair and wringing it out. When he’d finished, he didn’t wait to proclaim that it was <em>her</em> turn.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Sansa backed away, “No, no, no— You’re the one who had to pay tribute, remember?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Throwing out a penny is no sin, Sansa,” he said, “and if you really need it back, I’m happy to grab it for you.” His sweatshirt was darkening around his sopping hair, and his burns had a new glisten. “After you take a dip.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa gulped. She glanced around quickly, wondering how far she could run before he caught her and carried her right back to the fountain. Based on his stride, probably not very far...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll be going in one way or another,” he chuckled. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulled out as many vodka minis as she could fit in her hands. “I’ll dump them out,” she said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You won’t,” he said. “I’ll catch you before you can drain a single one.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Ugh</em>. Sansa put the bottles away. She smoothed her dress, and next her hair... trying to feign readiness for the water, though right when she should’ve approached the wishing fountain, she ran in the opposite direction. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa!” called Sandor. “Come back here!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She could hear him stomping on the field, grunting as he tried to run through his intoxication. If he couldn’t catch her, she wouldn’t be going into that fountain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor tripped, a stick snapped under him and he swore. <em>That’s what five vodka miniatures will do to you</em>, Sansa thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only... she couldn’t hear him anymore. He wasn’t stomping or running or grunting. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She ducked behind a tree and listened carefully for his movements. <em>What is he doing?</em> Surely he hadn’t gotten hurt, Sansa thought... but the notion was enough to send her out from hiding. She peeked around the tree and saw that he was lying face down on the ground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor!” she said, running over to him. Sansa knelt by his side, though when she tried to push him over, his body made a strangled noise. Sansa’s heart raced; what had happened? His weight was difficult to move without aid. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then she realized... that the strangled noise had been... a laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No</em>. Sansa staggered to stand up, but an arm sprung out and caught her, yanking her onto the grass. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got you,” he said, holding her legs down with one of his and battling for custody of her arms. “Ready to go for a bath?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wouldn’t have minded a bath, though not the sort that he referred to...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s hair was soaked through and dripping and although his heat had somewhat warmed the water, Sansa still shivered when one of the droplets hit her forehead. His eyes were starry with mischief and he was smiling again, though much differently this time. There were blades of grass stuck to his skin and his cheeks were painted with dirt. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa would not be going in that fountain.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she said. “But you should probably go again; you have dirt on your face.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s alright,” he rasped, moving his weight to the other foot. “Just no more scars.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s heart clenched. “Could I have my arms back?” They were pinned under his hands. When he squinted at her, she added gently, “Just to get the grass off of your nose.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Deciding, apparently, that this was too dangerous for him, Sandor allowed for only <em>one</em> of her arms to be released. Though Sansa kept her word. She picked off the clippings of nature and afterwards, rubbed the dirt away as best as she could with the water his hair provided. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time she’d finished, the starriness of his eyes had gone and left them dark and half-lidded. Beneath that, he was panting raggedly, his chest pressing into Sansa’s every now and then. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa slipped her hand into his hair. She tilted up as much as the arm behind her head would allow her to and gifted a kiss to his parted lips. His skin was cold where it had embraced the earth, and he smelled like grass and watermelon vodka. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her heart clenched again, fiercely. Sansa let her head fall back onto the not-so-cushiony ground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think this means I won’t put you in that fountain,” Sandor said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was underneath him, pinned to the ground by his arms and legs, and she still had the upper hand. He looked like he was one more hug from falling asleep, and he was hard against her hip. It <em>did</em> mean he wasn’t going to put her in that fountain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shrugged. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will,” he said, lowering his head to hover above her neck. “But you can’t escape now... and the fountain won’t be going anywhere.” Sandor chuckled... though it was short, and it sounded more like a bark. He let go of her other wrist to flip his hips properly over hers, and he slid his tongue over her throat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pawed at the back of his neck and tilted her head back. Her dress was probably going to be just as dirty as his face by the end of the night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor toyed with the knot that tied her wrap together. <em>Oh... does he want to... right here?</em> What if there were bugs...? And it was much too public for Sansa. There was no one to be seen at the moment, but it was still a <em>public</em> park.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">The grass was ticklish against her bare legs. And where had she left her shoes, anyway? Sansa felt as if she’d been drinking, herself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shifted his hips and let out a sigh. A forearm was keeping him braced above her, though he was close enough to start a fire between them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There certainly seemed to be a fire inside of her, and she parted her legs just slightly beneath him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pulled his hand from the knot at her waist and planted it in the dirt. “I have to tell you a secret,” he said to her collar. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa said. Was it going to be about what was going on earlier?— What had made him stay silent for almost two hours? Was it going to be more of his trauma? Or some more bullshit about how he was going to throw her into the fountain?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes were closed when he opened his mouth to tell her the secret, but then he stopped himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa held her breath...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fucking hate peanut butter and jelly.” Sandor opened his eyes and glanced at the little bit of cleavage that her dress revealed for a moment before averting them across the park. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peanut butter and jelly? Where did he get that from? Sansa stared up at him blankly. “I don’t think that’s much of a secret,” she said. There was so much potential in, ‘I have to tell you a secret,’ and all he could think of were sandwich preferences? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor frowned. “I wasn’t done.” He shifted his hips over hers again. “They’re fucking disgusting. But no one had ever made me one before today,” he admitted, scratching his head. “I still hated the one that you gave me. But— I hated it less than the others. And if you make me more of them, I’ll always eat them. Even the seeded crusts, and those are the worst part of all.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was definitely a compliment somewhere in there, but Sansa had to squint to see it. “I’ll make you something that you do like next time.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiled, and it was definitely something that she’d never seen before. His mouth was open this time, and his teeth were visible. Sansa had been right, they were much straighter... though the little bit of crookedness that remained was really cute. And it fit him perfectly. His eyes were closed again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor started to move off of her and Sansa began to readjust with him— only, he startled at the last moment. His eyes shot wide open and he trapped her with an arm. “Don’t go anywhere,” he growled. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip. She had hoped that the alcohol would let him abandon his trust issues, but all it did was heighten them further. It really hadn’t been a good idea, getting him drunk. She just thought... that maybe he needed a break...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her hands raised in surrender. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He continued to move after a moment of analysis, but his eyes remained fixed on her as he sat up. And he required her hand when she was finally seated, to make sure that she couldn’t break her word. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wouldn’t have left him either way, but she was happy to hold his hand. They sat next to each other for a long while until Sandor spoke. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fucking hate my team, Sansa,” he said. “Tormund is an idiot and Bronn’s an asshole.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa nodded. “Bronn’s annoying, for sure. But I think you might like Tormund if you give each other some time.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he shook his head. “I hate him—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor, you’ve only known him for three days. Just give him some time.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor laughed. “Fuck <em>giving him time</em>,” he slurred, “I almost destroyed him today.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You almost what?” On the third day! She wondered what drama they could’ve possibly gotten into in just three days. Tormund was... well, he was unique... but so was Sandor! </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widened, because this was an <em>actual</em> secret... not that random comment about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was going to put him in the hospital,” Sandor said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would you do that? You have to be <em>nice</em> to them, Sandor— Or, if not nice... you have to at least be civil.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you heard the things he said then you would understand.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, what did he say?” said Sansa.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”He said... He asked if...” Sandor shook his head. His eyes went cold. “I just can’t work with him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sandwiched his hand between hers. “You can tell me, Sandor.” What could’ve been so bad? Was this what had gone so sourly and made him ignore her for hours?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor took a shaky breath. “He asked if you and I— He asked if we— If I—“ he shook his head vigorously. His hand was clenched around hers much too tightly. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa said, understanding the look on his face that had become programmed into her brain: if she pressed any further, he was going to start crying. “You’ve had a lot to drink, Sandor. We should go.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t protest as she led him out of the park, and he made no attempts to push her into the fountain. He’d had enough of the city for one night, Sansa thought. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as she had expected, not much sooner than Sandor was buckled into the front seat had he dozed off. She considered herself lucky for that, however, as it made the route home much easier. She’d called her dad along the way to tell him that Sandor would be spending the night again, and asked him to put some of Robb’s pajamas for him on her bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was no easy task waking him up, but once she’d been able to do that, he didn’t put up any trouble getting out of the car and going inside with her. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oddly enough, however, the most difficult part... was getting him to take off his clothes. He refused to even let her strip him of his shoes, but when she said that he couldn’t join her bed with his filthy sneakers on, he’d consented for them to be removed. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then when Sansa tried to help him take off his grassy-smelling sweatshirt, he held her hands at bay firmly. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not wearing anything under this,” Sandor said groggily. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa didn’t see an issue with that. In fact, she was more than happy to have him in her bed without a shirt! Only, she realized... that he wasn’t actually offering that scenario. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Right, okay... I’ll just go get you a shirt then.” Sansa started off, but he caught her by the wrist. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t want to take it off.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sansa froze. He didn’t want to take it off...? He would be too hot in her bed with that sweatshirt on... He already had such a hard time with her blanket nest. </span> <span class="s1">And besides... the sweatshirt was dirty. <em>Literally</em>, he’d rolled around in the dirt. It was grass-stained and filthy and foul-smelling, and the truth was that she didn’t want it in her bed. </span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor... your sweatshirt is dirty. And you’ll overheat if you wear it...” she said calmly. “I think you’ll be much more comfortable if you take it off.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He refused. “I can sleep on the floor if you don’t want me in your bed. I’m not taking it off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s heart— He was going to sleep on her floor? No, that wasn’t right... He belonged right next to her. How could he even think she’d let him sleep on the floor? She couldn’t help be annoyed, though, because now she would have to let him track his soiled clothes into her bed. And then tomorrow she’d have to wash all of the blankets and— Sansa groaned. Why couldn’t he just take it off?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Fine,” she said. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.” She picked up the pajama pants that her dad had left for him. “Do you want to change out of your sweats?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at the pile of fabric in her hand. Sansa really wasn’t sure what there was for him to consider so thoughtfully— in her mind, pajamas were pajamas— but nevertheless, he ultimately shook his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” said Sansa. She supposed she would just have to be okay with that. And maybe he would explain in the morning? Though, explanations came very rarely with Sandor... and the chance ones that he <em>did</em> offer didn’t exactly make sense. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She prepared a waste bin for him at the side of the bed, just in case the vodka, soda, sushi and spicy ramen didn’t fare well together in his stomach. And she’d propped a water bottle for him on the nightstand in case he needed it between sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once they were finally settled, Sansa did her best to ignore that he was wearing filthy day clothes in her bed. She wasn’t going to miss out on any snuggling, and conveniently, she propped herself behind his back to make sure that he couldn’t roll over and... choke on his own vomit in the night, should he throw up. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor’s hair wasn’t wet anymore, though the fountain water hadn’t done him any favors in terms of tangles. He was quiet and cold and his sweatshirt smelled acutely of grass. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rubbed her knees against the backs of his thighs and slid a hand back and forth along his side. Sandor sighed every so often, and a few times he trembled under her fingertips. Sansa put a lot of mind into making sure that she didn’t fall asleep before he did; he’d gone through such a crappy day, and she couldn’t fathom the thought of him feeling alone in her bed. So she kept up her gentle rubbing on his hips and waist and shoulders until she could hear him starting to snore. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smiled, and she really, really hoped that no insects had crawled into his pockets when they were laying in the grass. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor knew that the sushi was a bad idea. What sort of parasites did that tofu have? Or did the bacteria lie in the seaweed? <em>Who the fuck thought eating seaweed was a good idea anyway?</em> Had they missed the <em>weed</em> part? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He woke up with a horrific urge to tip his stomach, and that he did. Fortunately he missed Sansa and her bed, but he also missed the trash bin. And if puking all over her floor hadn’t been bad enough, Sandor was lucky enough to then proceed to fall out of the bed and into his own waste. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” he groaned. His arm was resting in a pile of thick, chunky sludge, and he could feel it seeping into his chest through the sweatshirt. The smell was horrid and acidic, and it rang his nausea anew. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bed creaked once, and then Sansa was stirring out of it. “Sandor...?” she asked, her voice riddled with fatigue. She peeked over the edge of the bed. “Sandor! What—“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighed when she made a little <em>ooh</em> of disgust. No doubt she’d noticed the smell. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What the fuck?</em> he wondered, wondering how far his vomit must’ve extended across the room for him to feel his jeans dampening, too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only... It was dark in her bedroom, but Sandor could see that there wasn’t any more vomit; his torso was resting in the entirety of it. But then why...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bed creaked again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ground his legs together. This could not be happening. <em>Not here</em>, he pleaded, <em>not in her fucking bed</em>. The universe really <em>was</em> out to get him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa hopped off of the bed. She stayed as far away from him and his vomit as she could get until she found the light switch and flicked it on. She ran to the window next, to open it for some fresh air, and he was her third stop. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Sandor had to do was look down to see it: his sweatpants had darkened heavily at the crotch. He’d pissed himself. <em>In her fucking bed</em>. His eyes stung.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She absentmindedly lowered a hand to his shoulder, and even then her touch was featherlight. “I’ll be right back,” Sansa promised, and she fled on her heel. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just like that he was alone, soaked through with his own urine and vomit. He was absolutely filthy and— <em>where had she gone?</em> A shiver ran down his body and back up again and he thought he might like to empty his stomach once more. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor tried to get himself up, because maybe he might’ve been able to conceal whatever he’d done to her mattress... Only, his arms wouldn’t support him and he fell right back down again and hit his puke at a new angle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was distinct whispering outside the door. What time was it anyway? Would it have been too much to hope that this was all a nightmare? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><em>Yes</em>. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pushed through, still turned towards the hallway as she carried in a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of some cleaner. It was her mom that she was talking to, Sandor noticed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Catelyn peered inside and offered a tight smile and a wave to Sandor between their conversation. No doubt she was trying her best to be polite despite the stench. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Covered in my own vomit and I’ve just wet myself</em>, Sandor thought. <em>How are you? </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her unshakable manners were so frustrating, and so was their presence in Sansa as well. He’d fucking <em>soiled</em> himself in his boss’s house, his girlfriend’s house, and they were acting like it was all fine. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t get the truth out of Sansa if he tried; that she would just give him some pretty words and a sweet smile when it was obvious that everything was wrong. Isn’t that what she was doing now? The thought made him shiver. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Catelyn whispered something furious at Sansa in the doorframe and then she was gone. Sansa made her way towards him warily, trading glances between his darkened jeans, the little pile of vomit underside him and his face. Though it wasn’t just his face overall that she was looking at... it was his burns, Sandor could feel it. Her eyes were tearing through his charred cheek, laser-cutting so deep that he thought he could actually feel her carving another scar into him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was rethinking him, wasn’t she? Was there more truth in what his asshole coworker had said?— Was Sansa in on it the whole time? Sandor had not forgotten the way that she’d smiled at Tormund yesterday. And she’d defended him, too... She had said to give Tormund <em>time</em>, as though that was a magical solution. Although the suspicion made his chest tremble unwelcomely, he couldn’t stop himself wondering if she’d had more to do with the remark than he knew. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A floorboard creaked under her foot. An easy repair, Sandor knew; something he could do in less than an hour. When Sansa crouched down beside him, he could smell lemongrass on her wrists. She gave him a soft smile, which somehow made him feel even filthier. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can take a shower if you’d like to,” Sansa said gently. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and she was still very comfortable-looking in her pajamas. She held her spray bottle of cleaner firmly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s ass was aching after the fall from her bed, but he dragged himself upright and took the roll of paper towels from her. <em>As if</em> he was going to let her clean up his filth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s eyes widened slightly when he noticed what his intentions were. He wanted to clean up his own vomit? <em>Unthinkable</em>, Sandor imagined her to believe. She was like that; always taking responsibility for him and his problems.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Sandor, you don’t have to do it,” she reached out to take the cotton roll back, but he held it well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well <em>you’re</em> not going to be swiping it up,” Sandor chuckled bitterly. There was a gentle skin over the vomit and the stench was renewed when he broke it with a handful of towels. Luckily the trash can was right there. The taste was, to his misfortune, still present on his tongue as he’d yet to even rinse his mouth. But how could he leave?— If he dared, she would have the floor cleaned before he could stop her. His tongue was thick and hot and bitter but it would have to wait.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really...” Sansa said quietly, “I don’t have any problem—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor turned to look at her. “You’re not cleaning it up, Sansa. It’s my own fucking mess. As far as your mattress goes,” he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, “I can get you a new one.” Not after three whole days of work, he couldn’t, but what else was there to tell her? Sleeping in a mattress stained with piss seemed to be the type of situation that even Sansa couldn’t romanticize. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor, it’s perfectly fine,” she said, sounding a bit baffled by his offer. “If you’ve ruined anything, it’s just the mattress protector, and those are cheap enough to replace.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Upon lifting another nastily textured scoop of his puke, he tilted his head away so as not to gag. Sansa bid him to wait a second and raced out of the room. A mattress protector? Sandor looked over at the bed warily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here,” she said when she returned, upturning a little vial over her finger and dabbing Sandor’s Cupid’s bow. <em>Lemongrass</em>. “It’ll make the smell easier.” She wasn’t wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he was able to use the cleaner, it helped with the stink as well. Granted, it was filling the room with chemicals... but knowing Sansa, it would probably be some <em>organic, vegan</em> detergent. <em>Never tested on animals!</em> he saw in red lettering as soon as he turned the bottle. Sandor rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No sooner had he finished scrubbing away the spots on her floor did he notice that Sansa was starting to strip the bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Sandor called out, his hands sticky with cleaner. He was supposed to clean everything up. Why was she so eager to scrub out his piss? “Stop that,” he barked, pushing her hands from the blankets and examining the damage that he’d done to her bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even if her mattress hadn’t soaked anything up, her blankets certainly had. <em>Her nest</em>, Sandor thought woefully. <em>Her little bird’s nest</em>. He’d ruined it. A blue knit throw, darkened teal with his urine. A light purple fleece with little beads of pale liquid rolling off as he moved it around. A few other blankets had been stained as well, but namely her white comforter; the foundation of her fluffy bed. Sandor rubbed his forehead. <em>Fucking disgusting</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s really not a big deal,” Sansa had the audacity to tell him. “I’ll wash them... and my mom says that baking soda might get some of it out. Or vinegar. And if not... it’s really okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wetting the bed at twenty five isn’t <em>okay</em>, Sandor knew. He laughed hotly, becoming more disgusted with himself with every second that he looked at the sodden blankets yet utterly unable to look at anything else. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, Sandor,” she pushed him gently to the side, away from her bed. “They’re just blankets.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snorted, and she slipped her fingers into his hair and pushed it gently behind the ear. Sandor could hardly tell she was luring him to the bathroom until he was face-to-face with the koalas on the shower curtain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can put your clothes in the wash,” Sansa reached in and turned on the shower, “and they’ll be ready for you to wear again in an hour and a half, tops.” She looked at him warily. “In the meantime, you can wear Robb’s pajamas...?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>, his clothes. Sandor wondered if he might be able to just hand wash them. Perhaps he could hang them on the towel rack and put them back on once he came out? The crotch of his jeans would be a little sodden, but at least he’d have <em>his</em> clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor scratched his head. “I‘ll wash them in here,” he said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stared at him blankly. “Sandor— Why are you being so difficult? Robb doesn’t have any awful diseases. You’ll be fine wearing his clothes for an hour.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of the shower water hitting the acrylic was loud in Sandor’s ears. He was cold suddenly; he didn’t think he wanted to take off his clothes at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa approached him slowly, putting her hand out to rest on his bicep. “Sandor,” she said gently, desperately. “Please. You’re covered in vomit. Please let me wash your clothes.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Please</em>, he thought. He didn’t want to, but she wouldn’t be able to see him in Robb’s pajamas; not in the way that he was afraid of. <em>And</em> he was covered in piss and vomit. <em>An hour and a half, tops, </em>she’d said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed. “Can you bring his clothes in?” he mumbled drearily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa nodded. She was going to smile, he could tell, but she never did. He waited for her patiently, glancing every now and then at the shower he was expected to use. Soon, Sandor would’ve been ready to do everything that she’d wanted to do for weeks now... only Tormund made sure that that wasn’t the case. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em> if Sandor didn’t want to just forget everything that happened. Everything. He knew that he hadn’t exactly extinguished the situation by calling Tormund’s sweetie a bitch, but it was too late to take it back now and truth be told, he might not’ve anyway. The two of them, his <em>team</em>, they were pricks. Sandor could hear them sniggering about him ever since he got there. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rinsed his mouth in the sink. The toothbrush that he’d been given was held in a little plastic baggy in the first drawer, and Sansa had written ‘Sandor’ across it in magic marker. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spoke of his low class when they thought he couldn’t hear them; they spoke of his incompetence in maintenance— which stung more than it should’ve, because he thought he’d been doing a damn good job— and they spoke of his face as well. Little comments they would make of his scarring, but they set Sandor off nonetheless. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they spoke of Sansa, however, Sandor wouldn’t tolerate it. They never said anything bad about her, and what <em>could</em> they have said? She was beautiful and kind and her father owned the company in which they worked under. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she was also Sandor’s girlfriend, and he didn’t want to hear Bronn or Tormund talk about how <em>sexy</em> she was, or how she should have a boyfriend that was equally as attractive. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor turned the toilet cover down and sat on it. <em>Why didn’t she have an equally attractive boyfriend?</em> he wondered. Bronn preached about winning over women with his cock, which might’ve been possible for Sandor... only Sansa hadn’t even <em>seen</em> his cock. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t have any money either. He wasn’t kind, or thoughtful, or smart. Sansa said he was ‘beautiful’ but that was rubbish. <em>Beautiful</em> was for describing women, anyway, wasn’t it? Not for bulky men who stood higher than six feet, he didn’t think.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shoved through the door carrying the same pile of clothes she’d offered him last night. “Just for an hour and half,” she said, glancing at the stains on his top, “and then you can put your clothes back on. They’ll be clean and fresh and good as new.” She smiled, but Sandor didn’t want to smile back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?” she asked, setting the clothes down on the counter. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Something else had gone wrong</em>, she must’ve been thinking, because the list of problems was never-ending with him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll have to go to work soon,” Sandor told her sullenly. “I think it would be easier for me to just drive home and change there.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa shook her head. “No, don’t worry. My dad said that you can go in late.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Late</em>. Sandor tipped his head back and sighed. What was wrong with her? Did she <em>like</em> this?— Did she like his moping? Did she like cleaning up after him? She couldn’t have; that was ridiculous. Maybe she was a part of Tormund’s game.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“So, what— would you like me to rip my clothes off now?” he sneered. “Or better yet, do you want to do it for me?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa frowned. “No...” she said. “Just—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck do you want from me?” Sandor drew his lips together tightly to drown out the quiver that was beginning to form.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shower was still running. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked at him blankly. “What do I <em>want</em> from you? I’m just trying to help,” she said. “I just thought you might like a shower after... after your night.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In general,” Sandor stood up. “What are you hoping to get out of this?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you talking about?” Her cluelessness was evident, but he couldn’t stop himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Our fucking relationship. What could possibly be in it for you?” It was convenient, Sandor thought, to be nearly a foot taller than her. “You think I’d believe there’s nothing you’d rather do than wash my piss-soaked fucking clothes? To wait on me whenever I’m having a <em>bad day</em>? Every fucking day is bad. Are you tired of it yet?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip. “You need to calm down,” she said. “I don’t know what’s making you so upset, but maybe you’ll feel more comfortable talking about it after your shower.” Her eyes were shiny as she twisted the door handle. “You can leave your clothes on the floor, and I’ll grab them in a few minutes. I have some blankets to wash,” she added coldly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor locked the door behind her. He was numb and cold, and he didn’t feel like he had the energy to take off his clothes. His stomach was aching and he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his head as he rubbed teardrops off of the counter’s edge. He wanted to run and scream and kick something; he did <em>not</em> want to go back out there and see Sansa. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sweatpants peeled off awkwardly, and the insides of his thighs were damp and sticky. When his shirt came off and the stench of his vomit wafted around, it was everything Sandor could do not to retch. He couldn’t imagine what her reaction would be once she had to deal with the ruined clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">He couldn’t stop himself from looking in the mirror. Muscled, maybe, but it didn’t make up for the scars. And Sansa had the fucking nerve to call him <em>beautiful</em>. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor felt dirty inside and out as he stepped over the bathtub’s edge. And whose fault was it but his own? He could blame it on Tormund, but Tormund hadn’t just pushed Sansa to tears for trying to help him. Tormund also hadn’t called anyone’s love interest a <em>bitch</em>, as far as Sandor knew. He hadn’t gotten angry and drunk and angry again, and he hadn’t ruined his girlfriend’s blankets. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>How am I going to apologize for that?</em> Sandor thought. He hadn’t apologized once, for any of it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The water was warm at best after all the time it’d ran idly, and he made quick work of the remaining heat. There was a shelf full of soap bottles, but Sandor knew he found the right one when he caught whiffs of lemon and coconut under his nose. That was Sansa’s, for sure. He squeezed a fat glob into his hand. <em>Fuck smelling girly</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A knock at the door came and he was fast as a bolt rinsing the lemony stink off. Sandor poked his head out from the curtain and the door creaked open slightly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa put a hand up defensively. She reached around to snag his sweatshirt and then his sweatpants, and then she disappeared again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he was sure that his body was clean again and as free as it could get of the putrid lemon-coconut soap, Sandor toweled himself dry and pulled on the pajamas. The pants were nearly high waters on him, and the shirt wasn’t loose enough for his preference, but soon enough he would have his own clothes back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s hair was still dripping down his back and over his chest as he left the bathroom. He had no fucking idea what he was going to say to Sansa, not even as he knocked on her door. She didn’t say anything to him either as she let him in, thankfully, but he noticed that her bedspread was new and the room smelled much nicer than it had when he’d left it. With the amount of light that came through after she closed the blackout curtains, it might as well have been midnight when she drew him back into her bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa clutched him tightly to her front. Her legs rubbed together to make a little fire between his as she pinched the water from his wet hair. She pushed the locks around his ear, and her voice was the gentlest whisper beside it. “I want you to tell me what happened yesterday.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor swallowed. She shouldn’t be touching him at all. Where were her demands for an apology? She sure as hell deserved one. The memory of Tormund’s voice felt like little needles in his eardrums. He tried his absolute best to swallow the overwhelming lump in his throat. “The woman that... <em>Tormund</em>,” he cringed at the name, “the woman that he’s after, I called her a bitch.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Above his hair, Sansa’s finger’s froze. “Brienne?” she asked. “Why would you say that about Brienne?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate him. He wouldn’t stop talking about her.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brienne’s really kind, Sandor. She hasn’t done anything to you—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know she fucking hasn’t,” Sandor said. “It wasn’t about her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t see her, but he thought he could feel her stare burning another scar into his face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well then what was it about?” Sansa asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Are you deaf?’ Sandor remembered. ‘My face isn’t any worse than,’ <em>his</em>, Tormund was going to say. His face wasn’t any worse than <em>Sandor’s</em>. Thinking about it made his blood hot. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would’ve had to have been there,” he settled on. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rubbish,” Sansa shot back. “You were going to tell me last night. At the park.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wasn’t wrong. He was going to tell her last night, but the words got stuck in his throat, and they still were. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen, Sansa—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me what happened with Bronn and Tormund,” she said. Her fingers were gone from his hair altogether. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They said some things. You don’t need to hear them.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I do,” Sansa said. She sat up and crossed her legs by his chest. “You’ve been... I hate to say this, Sandor, but you’ve been sort of an <em>asshole</em> since I left you after lunch yesterday. You’ve been rude and unkind and as far as I’m aware, I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pulled himself to a seat opposite her, leaning against the headboard.<em> An asshole</em>. Once again, she wasn’t wrong, but it made his chest ache to hear the truth of it. He’d been terrible; ‘rude and unkind’ and so much worse than that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And it has nothing to do with.... with you <em>wetting the bed</em>,” Sansa added, covering her mouth to stifle a little giggle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rubbed his eyes. “Don’t bring that up again,” he grumbled. She laughed harder, but only for a moment until everything got serious again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He let out a long breath. The darkness made it a lot easier to be honest, though he trembled nonetheless. It </span> <span class="s1">took a lot out of Sandor to tell her that Bronn and Tormund had made jokes about how bad he was at his job, and how they’d commented on his face. It took a lot more out of him to tell her that they laughed about how greatly she was out of his league. Sansa tried to hold him close again but he kept her at bay with both hands. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor could hardly breathe when it was time to tell her the final bit, but the manicured hand she had on his knee gave him a little comfort. There was no easy way to say it, and the words clogged his throat just as much as they had the first time he wanted to tell her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was nearly pitch black in her bedroom, but Sandor closed his eyes anyway. “He asked me if you let me fuck you with the lights on.” There wasn’t the slightest bit of sound to be heard from her for a few minutes, and that’s when he decided it was time to crack one eye open. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was still as a statue. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap and he thought he could see her staring at the headboard, looking as if her soul had gone to a new dimension. Sandor poked her leg and she let out a sigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wordless, Sansa slid herself beneath the blankets again and wrapped herself around him. She rested her palm over the normal side of his face, and one of her cheeks pressed against his burned one.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was still numb, as though someone had just taken his batteries out. Why hadn’t she said anything? He’d expected her to say something, anything. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You used my body wash,” she told him, her nose poking at the side of his ear. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That wasn’t exactly what he‘d expected her to say. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would you’ve rathered I just used my own rinse-off?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sansa said plainly. “It smells nice on you is all.” She licked his neck for emphasis, and drew his flesh into her mouth. The sensation of her teeth on his skin made Sandor throb, and it made him want to cry, but no sooner had she withdrawn. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slid her hand above his hip and lowered her head to his chest. “You should go back to sleep, Sandor. If you need some noise I can put on a movie or some music or something.” She leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I can sing for you if you’d like me to.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shivered, and he swallowed involuntarily. He remembered eavesdropping on her singing so many weeks ago; he remembered the way it made his heart ache, and some other parts of him as well. He nodded and curled onto his side. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first song she sang was Hush Little Baby and she giggled the entire time. Sandor rolled his eyes at her, even though her voice sent shivers down his spine. She sang Rock a Bye Baby, some song about a teapot, Alouette and something else about some piglets before Sandor stopped being able to listen. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">******</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was going to kill Tormund. That’s all she could think about as Sandor slept beside her. She was going to <em>kill</em> him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their friendship had been fine before— for years, in fact. Years had passed since Tormund had begun working for her father, and she’d always thought him perfectly harmless. <em>Weird</em>, certainly, but Sansa never would’ve thought him capable of saying something so <em>lethal</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Sandor had earned that for calling Brienne a <em>bitch</em>? Tormund and Brienne weren’t even together! Who did he think he was, talking to Sandor like that? Sansa was going to kill him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knew she couldn’t actually murder him, though she wasn’t sure it was such a horrible idea. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘He asked me if you let me fuck you with the lights on.’ An hour at most had gone by and Sansa’s heart still clenched every time she recalled the words in her mind. She ran her hand over Sandor’s chest and received its pattern of rising and falling. How could Tormund have said something so terrible? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d really done a number on Sandor, but she was glad to have finally gotten it out of him. Sansa stroked his stomach through the cotton while he slept, and she let herself drift away to the sounds of his snoring and the possible plots of revenge.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she woke next it was to the sound of her horrid alarm, blazing and vibrating on the nightstand beside her. Sandor woke with a start, wide-eyed and jerking in surprise. She had to switch Sandor’s wash, but they were back together just as soon... until the alarm rang for the second time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Sansa mumbled. “I think we have to get up for real this time.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor changed back into his clothes and she insisted on driving him to work. He didn’t have any problem with it until she mentioned that she’d be having a chat with Tormund. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No you are <em>not</em>,” Sandor protested. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yes I am. What he said to you was horrible. Did you think I was just going to leave it alone?” Sansa said. Surely he couldn’t have thought she would just let something like that slide. She’d chewed out the waitress for just <em>looking at him</em> the wrong way, so for someone that she <em>knew</em> to be so aggressive towards him... it was unacceptable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—“ he stopped himself and let out a short chuckle. “What do you plan on saying?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That if he ever says anything like that to you again, I’ll have him fired.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s eyes widened greatly. “You can’t threaten his job, Sansa.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I can. My dad is the boss.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed his eyelids. “You can’t do that, Sansa. You’ll just make everything worse. And I don’t even think that’s legal.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were already parked. Sansa could see the brick building straight ahead, and she wondered what Tormund would be doing right now. “Well what’s <em>your</em> plan?” she asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t have a plan. It’s not a big deal.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not a big deal?” Sansa scoffed. “You told me you were going to put him in the hospital at the park last night. Suddenly it’s <em>not a big deal?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at her blankly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to come in,” she told him. “I was going to talk to him by myself anyway.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glanced over at the brick apartment building. “Are you really going to talk to him?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Unless you <em>really</em> don’t want me to,” Sansa said. “But even then I still might. I’m not okay with the way that he spoke to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess I’ll go in with you then.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa beamed. He stayed close behind her as they journeyed up the staircase and into the proper unit, crossing the chalky, dusty living room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, Sansa,” said Sandor. He wiped his forehead. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He’s nervous</em>, Sansa thought. Her stomach fluttered at the realization. “Stay here,” she squeezed his hand. He leaned back against the wall and she pushed open the door to a bedroom. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund was crouched beside an open power outlet, holding a drill and a little vinyl cover. He was alone, and he glanced up when she entered. Where was Bronn?<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa,” he said jovially, looking as if he wanted to hug her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She told him that she needed to talk with him and he stood up, clapping the dust off of his hands and wiping them off on his jeans. Sansa’s head was thrumming, and her blood had come to a boil. “Sandor told me that you inquired about our sex life yesterday,” her lips were tight as she spoke. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t say that I <em>inquired </em>about it,” he said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa nodded. <em>Smartass</em>. “You asked him if we’ve had sex with the lights on, did you not?” She could feel the color rising to her cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded casually. “What if I did?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What if I did?</em> She couldn’t stop herself chuckling, though nothing was funny; she was <em>horrified</em>. How could he be so indifferent? Her heart clenched when she remembered Sandor’s face in the park last night, and again this morning. “Well if you ever ask him something— If you ever <em>say something like that</em> to him again; if you ever talk about his face again, you’ll be looking for a new job.” A shiver ran down her spine at her boldness. “It’s harassment, and—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait a second,” Tormund put his hands out, his eyebrows raised incredulously. “Did your boyfriend tell you what he said to me?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About Brienne?” She watched him go red. “He told me. Do you think that lets you off the hook? You and Brienne—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know anything about me and Brienne,” he interrupted angrily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “<em>You</em> don’t know anything about me and Sandor. You don’t know <em>anything</em> about his scars. Leave him alone or I promise that my dad will be more than happy to have a chat with you himself.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tormund glowered at the door that stood between him and Sandor and Sansa smiled kindly at him. “Retaliation is considered harassment in the workplace as well,” she reminded him. “If you say one word to him...” her nervous chuckle was back, “well, you know. Have a nice day!” she said as she sauntered out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was still leaning against the wall when she shut the door. Her blood was still on fire as she approached and she couldn’t have kept her hands off him if she wanted to. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor,” Sansa nearly whined, pressing him gently into the wall. His clothes were soft and practically dryer fresh and he smelled like her lemon-coconut soap. She hugged him tightly and leaned up as far as she could to pull his bottom lip between her teeth. The knowledge that Tormund was right around the door excited her more than it should’ve and Sansa smiled even as she kissed him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ow!” Sandor barked when she nibbled him too hard. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, and the tips of his hair tickled her ears as he leaned down. “You’re a little wolf, you know that?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Sansa beamed and planted a kiss on his cheek. “If anything happens, call me <em>immediately</em>. Otherwise, I’ll be here to pick you up after work.” She knew she had to leave, but it was such a challenge letting go of him. Was he going to be okay here with Tormund? she wondered anxiously, repeatedly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go on then,” Sandor told her, guiding her back to the front door. “It’s just a few hours. I’ll be fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa squeezed his hand. “If anything happens, you call me, Sandor. I mean it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughed and gestured to his cellphone. And then he closed the door on her. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Yellow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Double sleepover slumber party date night part one!!!! Sansa’s house. Complete with cookies, confessions and limoncello.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So has he said anything to you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Sansa. I already told you four times: he hasn’t even looked in my direction,” Sandor sighed, “that I’m aware of, at least.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa turned to him even though his eyes were locked on the road. “You know I’m only asking because I care about you. If he hurts you again, I’ll—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “You’ll have him fired. Perk of being the boss’s daughter.” Sandor found time to glance at her quickly in between checking the rear view mirror. “But you have to be careful going around threatening people like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It wasn’t <em>threatening</em>,” she scoffed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yes</em> it was.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess you’re right...” Sansa admitted after a moment. <em>But it’s only because I care about you,</em> she thought. And what was wrong with that? Obviously he needed to be protected, and who better was there for the job than her? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was hard to deny, however, that she’d been thinking about her confrontation with Tormund. Had she been too bold? Too... <em>threatening</em>, as Sandor said? He’d also basically said it was illegal for her to threaten Tormund, but it couldn’t be... could it? It’s not like she threatened to hurt him...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It probably would’ve been easier had I just talked to your dad about a new team,” Sandor said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A new team</em>, Sansa thought. “I can talk to him if you want me to,” she suggested. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you’ve done enough.” He chuckled as the words came out but it still made Sansa frown.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tried her best to shove Tormund in the past. After all, the kickoff of their double sleepover slumber party date was tonight! Tonight was to be spent at Sansa’s house, and tomorrow it would be Sandor’s apartment... and she couldn’t be more excited! She couldn’t hold herself back from a little squeal. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled her bulky car up the driveway and gracelessly shifted into park. He scraped her hand off of his, off the wheel, and raised his brow at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s heart was racing as she thought about the weekend ahead. They were going to watch movies and cuddle and dance and play games and maybe... do some other things as well. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sex probably shouldn’t have been her biggest priority, but... It’d been a while. Joffrey had been the last, and she was very eager to wipe that slate. Besides, how long had she and Sandor known each other by now?— More than two months, and they’d been dating for weeks. Still, he was always so reserved around her... but he didn’t need to be! </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d gotten close a few times but to no avail... but maybe this weekend would be different. The thought made her skin hot.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you waiting for something...?” Sandor asked, giving her a curious look. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” she said, reaching for Sandor’s tattered backpack. She ought to get him a new one. “Let’s go inside!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The whole way inside, the whole way through her kitchen and living room, the whole way into her bedroom Sandor just acted like it was any other day. This was the beginning of their sleepover slumber party date! Couldn’t he muster up <em>any</em> enthusiasm? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was always good at drawing enthusiasm out of nowhere, when she had to. She thought back to her cheerleading days, and then, to her most mischievous pleasure, she imagined Sandor in one of the pink pleated skirts and cropped tops. Somehow she didn’t think he’d make the cut. <em>Not with</em> his <em>ardor</em>, she thought bitterly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you laughing at?” he grumbled, putting on his very best frown. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip. There had to be ladies with wider hips than Sandor’s on her cheerleading squad, and certainly with larger chests than his. She wondered if she might be able to contact the coach and score him a pair... just for... <em>giggles</em>. And then of course there’d be the challenging of getting it on him. Her outfit was right there, hanging up in the closet...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh nothing,” Sansa said. Despite knowing that she would have him for the next forty eight hours, she thought it was perfectly acceptable to seal the beginning of their time together with a twenty-minute-long hug. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In other words, she sat him down in her uncomfortable wooden desk chair and wrapped herself around him like an octopus. In defense of the unnecessarily long cuddle, the conditions Sandor provided made it considerably hard for her to break the embrace. His clothes smelled so lovely and clean, and his chest was rising slowly and shallowly beneath hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m hungry,” Sansa whispered into the little stub where an entire ear should’ve been. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor chuckled a bit weakly. “And what do you want?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want...” she took a little handful of his hair and combed it through her fingers. She inquired as to whether or not he remembered their first date. “When we went to the beach... and I made those... cookies—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t tell me you want cookies,” he said, the words muffled against her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do,” Sansa giggled. “I want those lemon sandwich cookies. But... we would have to... <em>make</em> them.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor glared at her. “Do I look like a baker to you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could!” she grinned. “You <em>could</em> look like a baker! My dad has a lovely apron and I’m sure it would look great on you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he said firmly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ten minutes later he stood by her marble countertop with her dad’s pinstripe apron on.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get this off of me,” Sandor said flatly, reaching around to undo the tight double knot at his back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no, no,” Sansa said. “Not until I take a picture.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reeled away from her. “Absolutely fucking not,” he barked, shoving his hands in front of his face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><em>Every time</em>, Sansa thought. <em>Every time</em> she wanted to take a picture of or with him he got all dramatic about it. How else did he expect their memories to be tracked? She told him that she’d already got one, and shoved her phone back into her pocket. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you take it off now?” he asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa rolled her eyes, but she gave him what he wanted and hung the apron back in the mud room. If he got covered in butter, it was his own fault... but who was she to preach? She wasn’t wearing an apron either. And that picture wasn’t getting deleted. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was agreed upon that an actual meal should come before the cookies. Unfortunately for Sandor, Sansa’s baking prowess did not extend into actual <em>cooking</em>. Therefore, they put together a lovely dinner comprised of frozen food: mac and cheese, broccoli (Sandor wouldn’t eat the broccoli) and vegan chicken nuggets. But at the risk of not being an overachiever, Sansa took it upon herself to put the broccoli in a saucepan and the faux chicken nuggets in the oven. The mac and cheese didn’t get the same attention, however, and went on high for two minutes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Turns out, Sandor wasn’t very good at baking after all. He tracked flour all throughout the kitchen, he kept putting wet measuring cups into the dry containers— and even worse, he didn’t really understand the concept of <em>measuring</em>. Every single time he had to measure one of the dry ingredients, he would just scoop it out and throw it into the bowl without even leveling it. For him to do that with the sugar, whatever— but the baking powder? <em>Unacceptable!</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was only supposed to be half a teaspoon!” Sansa yelped, staring at the heap of baking powder he’d thrown into the glass mixing bowl.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared blankly at her. He pointed to the metal spoon like she was an idiot. “This <em>is</em> the half teaspoon.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He must’ve put in at least a teaspoon and a half. Sansa had seen the big mountain of powder that he’d innocently <em>plopped</em> into her cookie dough. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor,” she said slowly. “Leveling. Have you heard of leveling? Look,” she took the spoon from him and demonstrated how one could scrape off the excess ingredient to get the proper measurement. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck that,” he waved her away. “You know how long that takes? Doing that every single time you have to measure something? It was just a little extra— <em>what</em>— baking powder? I think your cookies will be fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa grabbed the metal tablespoon. She put it into the bag of flour and scraped the excess off properly, so that it was a true tablespoon. With a gentle flick of her wrist, the spoonful of flour flew through the air and created a broad explosion over Sandor’s shirt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She waved her spoon around casually in the air and tried to pry some of the extra baking powder out of her cookie dough. “See? If I hadn’t leveled that spoon, you’d have <em>two</em> tablespoons on your shirt. Just like—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor scoffed and snatched the metal spoon from her, and then the bag of flour. His chest and midsection were covered in bright white powder. “And you wanted me to wear an apron.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">She watched as put the spoon down and dipped his hand into the bag. When it came back out, it was a dusty fist, a snowball... full of flour. Sansa backed away slowly. “Sandor,” she said in a warning voice, “don’t...” </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">His fist raised, powder falling all along the way and leaving little white mountains on the tile floor. Sansa looked around furiously for something to defend herself with, but as his hand came closer she covered her face with her hands and felt a soft pillowy <em>poof</em> of powder slap against the backs of her hands. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">When she looked down at her chest, she saw that it was covered, and the trail of flour extended down a ways until it piled at her feet. Sandor had the grace to blush over one cheek, and he handed over the flour meekly. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa wasn’t pleased. She stuffed her own hand into the fluffy powder and he ran as she aimed it towards him. It turned into a full blown flour-throwing fight before long, and the bottom of the bag came too quickly. Luckily Sansa had a hand held vacuum for pet hair for when her family still had pets, but it worked just fine sucking the flour off of their clothes. Sandor didn’t take very well to being vacuumed like an old rug, but his face as she suctioned his clothes made her laugh harder than she had in a while.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">She still had to sweep the floor and its mountains of dusty powder, and she was really lucky that the flour for the cookies had been measured before their baking brawl. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Together they packed a baking sheet with cookies (there was a very clear distinction on which cookies were made by who, as some were nice, even circles and some couldn’t really be called circles at all) and started off on the lemon creme filling. The recipe called for two tablespoons of lemon juice but Sansa swapped it for limoncello, and they took some sips from the bottle as they mixed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor, the citrus-hating fiend, complained about the liqueur’s taste, even though it really wasn’t that sour at all! Despite not liking it, he was taking quite a few swigs. In hopes of avoiding the horrid series of events from the previous time they’d drank together, Sansa cut him off and put the bottle back on the shelf. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was quite sure that the creme frosting all over Sandor’s hands during their icing process would’ve happened with or without the alcohol. By the time each of the cookies had turned into little shortbread sandwiches, he reeked of butter and sugar and lemons. And his fingers, they were plastered with off-white frosting. And there was no more frosting in the bowl... And he was going towards the sink... to wash his...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait,” Sansa caught him by the crook of his elbow. He stared at her bewilderedly as she studied his sugarcoated hands. With a steady finger, she swiped a glob of the thick icing off his knuckles... and licked it away from her skin. There was an almost crispy film that had developed on the creme and she liked the way that the sugar grain slid over her teeth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at her blankly and she smiled. He shuffled forward hazily, his body pushing her gently to lean against the counter’s edge. Her stomach filled with butterflies when his knees touched her legs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He liked it</em>, she thought. Sansa drew his hand up to her face. She went out of her way to make eye contact with him as she stretched his index finger and slowly brought her tongue to its tip. There wasn’t very much frosting on that finger to begin with, and before long she could taste the salt of his skin through the butter and lemons. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, making hard eye contact with her the whole time. His eyes closed only to flutter back open, half-lidded. Neither action did anything to dull the achy sensations in her chest. He let out a hitched breath as she pulled his finger into her mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she felt his finger go further and further, Sansa was starting to get a little nervous. By the look on his face he was obviously very turned on, but she wasn’t any sort of deep-throating pornstar sex goddess, so if he was expecting some spectacular blowjob, it probably wouldn’t be with her. He’d earn her best shot for sure, but she still had some trust issues from Joffrey forcing her head down on his prick (a new take on his beloved choking kink). </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the tip of his finger hit her uvula, Sansa gagged, and before she could even process what had happened, Sandor was stumbling away from her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he mumbled out, a bit guiltily. There was still flour in his hair, she noticed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Sorry?</em> He hadn’t even done anything. “No, no,” Sansa reached for his hand again. The finger that had been in her mouth was glistening. “No, I wanted to.” She cradled his sugarcoated fist in her palms. “I <em>want</em> to,” she corrected, looking up at him emphasizingly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you wanted cookies,” Sandor pointed to their homemade lemon sandwich cookies. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa glanced over to the stovetop where they sat. She looked to Sandor again, who she was quite sure didn’t like lemons at all, who drank her lemon liqueur and used her lemon soap. Her appetite had since changed. “But I want you now,” she stated. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stared at her blankly, and every so often he looked over at the cookies. Did he not get it? She might as well’ve said ‘I want to suck you off,’ and he was looking like he needed to consult google translate. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa tugged his half wet, half dry, half frosting-covered hand towards the direction of her bedroom gently and he gulped audibly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we... bring the cookies?” Sandor asked, scratching the side of head that he once claimed to be sensitive. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grabbed the whole baking sheet and they went upstairs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before Sansa could even put down their sweet treats her phone was vibrating on her desk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you get it?” she asked Sandor as she shuffled things around on the nightstand to make room. <em>Can we bring the cookies</em>, she replayed, rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“It’s a blocked number,” he remarked. The call had gone to voicemail by the time she got the phone in her hands. </span> <span class="s1">There weren’t many people contacting her under blocked numbers. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’ve called you four times,” Sandor pointed out, staring at her curiously. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s no one important.” It definitely wasn’t anyone important, and every second that she thought about Joffrey threatened to kill her mood. Sansa flicked on her mini projector and her laptop and she rolled into the bed after Sandor. It was their double sleepover slumber party date, she reminded herself. Sansa’s chest clenched. She really hoped they weren’t tracking any persistent flour into her bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cookies were tasty, but between scraping the bowl and licking his fingers, her stomach couldn’t take much more of the sugar. Sandor didn’t seem to be suffering a similar problem; she stopped counting the sandwiches he’d eaten after five and she sort of wished they’d made two more batches.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her first thought was that he didn’t deserve as many cookies as he’d eaten after his terrible baking atrocities, but honestly... Sansa couldn’t cut him off. She couldn’t take the cookies away from him, not after the slew of horrible days he’d had. And even if those bad days hadn’t happened, the thought of taking something so trivial away from him made her feel sicker than the sugar had. <em>He can have as many cookies as he wants</em>, Sansa decided. After all, she...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa curled her fingers around his waist and pulled him gently onto his side. The movie was some romantic drama that she’d picked just to put something on, though now the voices of the women rattling incoherently were distracting her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sun had set, her fairy lights were turned on. The lemon liqueur-infused icing was ever present on her lips, and it was sharp on Sandor’s as well, Sansa noticed, when she pulled one into her mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His breath was hot on her face when she pulled back and he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa ran her fingers over the fine hairs on his neck and he shivered. The butterflies had returned to her stomach as she contemplated how to word what she wanted to say. “I’m sorry if I made things worse for you by talking to Tormund.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s eyes fluttered open. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallowed. She’d really had too much sugar. “It’s just that... I hope that I didn’t make it more uncomfortable for you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of his big, heavy arms hung around her waist lazily and his stare burned holes through her eyeballs. She hadn’t expected him to be so silent about it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His arm was getting heavier every second that he stared at her... until he tightened his grip, pulled her gently to his chest and closed his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sandor said. Although his words made the little hairs on her back stand up, his breath reeked of shortbread. It was hard to take someone seriously when they smelled like a living, breathing box of Betty Crocker’s yellow cake mix. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Was she becoming so delirious that the cake smell was sort of turning her on? Or... was it his stomach pressed to hers? Something was making her extra warm beneath the fluffy pile of blankets and his proximity only stoked the little fire. <em>He</em> is <em>handsome</em>, Sansa thought confidently, overlarge nose at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before she could overthink it, four fingertips slipped under Sandor’s waistband, only to the first knuckle. She hardly had time to process the texture of the denim interior before he jumped gracelessly in the bed and grabbed her wrists. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Where were her mischievous little fingers headed? Was she going to stuff her hands down his pants? And what would happen after that?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the risk of bruising her pale wrists as he’d done some time ago, Sandor loosened his grip. Her manicured hands dipped to either thigh and she was looking up with her big blue doe eyes. Though he wanted to let her go altogether, he couldn’t. What was she going to do? His blood was bubbling and steaming beneath his skin, and he was <em>really</em> curious as to what her plans were. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her phone lit up on the nightstand and Sandor remembered that someone had tried to call her. A blocked number. Four times. Sandor was having a hard time dismissing that; who was calling <em>his... girlfriend,</em> so insistently? She’d seemed to know well enough who it was, and that was even worse. <em>What if it was Tormund?</em> What if she <em>was</em> conspiring with him like he’d suspected? Only, that didn’t make sense at all because she’d just gone out of her way to <em>defend him</em> from Tormund. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s head was spinning; the sugar was turning out to be not so good of an idea. Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten— <em>what, seven?</em> Seven seemed right— of her soft sandwich cookies. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He entrapped both of her hands in one for a moment so that he could rub the stress from his eyes. “Who was it, on the phone?” he asked, opening his eyes once again and staring at her intently so as to get the truth of it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip and his stomach turned. <em>Oh it’s bad, isn’t it? Maybe it </em>was<em> Tormund</em>. </span> <span class="s1">“Why don’t you want me to touch you?” she asked. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He froze. <em>What? </em>She thought he didn’t want to be touched? <em>No</em>, Sandor shook his head, everything was getting muddled and she hadn’t answered the question. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me,” Sandor said flatly. “Who was it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gasped and tried to tug her hands away. “My wrists, Sandor,” she whispered. He wouldn’t have noticed how tightly he was squeezing her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck, not again</em>, he thought woefully, releasing her at once and drawing his hands up to cover his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a moment, Sansa reached out and stroked ghosted lines over the back of his hand. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with her? It was a huge clusterfuck and he couldn’t even bring himself to swat her away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was my ex boyfriend Joffrey,” she said slowly, her voice low. “He’s been calling for weeks, but I never pick up. I didn’t tell you because... well... I don’t really tell anyone. My parents know, but that’s about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Joffrey. What the fuck is that</em> name? His hands parted in front of his face so that he could peek at her. “Why?” he said. “Why does he keep calling if you haven’t been answering?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa looked at him blankly. “He’s crazy. He was in jail for a few months but his family ba—“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Jail?</em>” Sandor raised himself on an arm. “What the fuck did he do to you?” His mind soared with the possibilities of this ex boyfriend’s crime, or crimes. “Did he...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He didn’t... <em>rape</em> me,” she mumbled, casting a glance down her body. “Look, he was just really bad,” she rubbed her eyes, “I don’t want to get into the details.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s alright. Have you thought about changing your number? Or pressing charges against him again?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My parents are working on a restraining order.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded. He reached out and scooped up her hands, examining her wrists carefully. There was a thick red circle on each where his miserable hands had damaged the tissue yet again, breaking delicate blood vessels beneath the surface and changing the pigment of her fair skin. He clutched her forearms against his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” Sandor said. It was bad enough the first time he’d done it, but now this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa gave a small smile. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll kiss it better.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gulped. <em>Kiss it</em>, she might as well have said. Clumsily, he pulled one of her forearms to his mouth. Did she really want him to kiss it, or were her true intentions otherwise? Sandor didn’t think it could be a metaphor for something all that deep, and he couldn’t really think of anything else she could’ve wanted from him... He puckered his lips as best he could and touched them to the inside of her wrist. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her feet stirred against his legs and it made his heart jump. Carefully, he pushed his tongue out to taste her; the skin was warm and velvety, salty and sweet in his mouth. For a moment he wondered what he’d tasted like when she took one of his fingers into her throat, and then his cock was throbbing. Sandor ground his legs. He released her arms and she seemed happy to have hold of them again, as the first thing she did was wrap them around his body. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You always shy away when I try to touch you,” Sansa said, her voice lilting. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not what you think,” Sandor shook his head. Obviously she wanted him to say more. He turned his head to glance warily at the yellow string lights. <em>She has a thing for the color yellow</em>, he thought. <em>Yellow this, yellow that</em>. Yellow was everywhere, all around, all the time. “Can you turn them off?” he rasped. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked at him curiously. “Why?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Why?</em> Sandor shrugged. “I don’t want them on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa stared at him a long moment, and there was a little frown twisting her pretty lips. “Is it because of what Tormund said to you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart froze. “No,” Sandor lied. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she tilted her head at him, he knew that she knew. For a while she didn’t say anything, and that made his chest hurt. He didn’t like lying. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the end, she reached over for a remote on her nightstand and then the lights were off. There was a little white noise in the background and a tiny laser of red light on the opposite wall, and Sandor realized that the movie had ended some time ago, the credits along with it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of her hands trailed gently over his chest and he closed his eyes. There wasn’t really any reason to keep them open, was there? It’s not like he could see anything anyway. Instantly forgetting that aforementioned fact, Sandor’s eyes shot open for good measure when he felt her lips on his. She still tasted like cookies, and if he searched hard enough he could find hints of the limoncello. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor,” she whispered so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her, “I want you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I want you</em>, he replayed the chords of her voice in his head over and over again, and a chill overtook his arms and legs. Although she’d said the same thing downstairs an hour ago, although she’d even had one of his fingers in her mouth, the context still seemed different. She’d wanted to suck his cock before, that he was quite sure of... baffling as it was to wrap his mind around. He was breathing so slowly and stilly that it hardly felt like he was breathing at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor leaned his face forward blindly to find her lips. Unfortunately the tip of his huge fucking nose found her eyeball instead and while he wanted to yell about it, she only chuckled. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was glad to interrupt her amusement when his lips were finally able to identify hers. It was a short lived kiss; a little clumsy, a little juvenile. But her hand coming up to rest along the inside of his thigh was hardly juvenile. If he could feel the edge of her baby finger on his cock, she could feel it too, Sandor knew. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A kiss came onto the normal side of his face while her other hand went to the mangled side. Sandor covered her fingers with his. The sensation on his cheek was weak but through his fingertips, he could feel the revolting texture. It was like candlewax, melted and dripped and dried three times over. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t see her but he had a pretty good idea what her big blue eyes looked like right in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this okay?” asked Sansa as she pressed down on his thigh, her voice still an itty bitty whisper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded, but then he remembered that she couldn’t actually see him. She seemed to understand his consent well enough when he put his other hand over hers, right over his thigh. He took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She traced lines through his pants for a little while but when her fingers finally moved over his cock, she let out a little <em>oh</em>. It was a quiet acknowledgement and his only chance of hearing it was because her face was so, so close to his. Sandor laughed at her reaction, even though he could hardly fucking breathe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s feet stirred against his legs once more and she pulled her hand back and sat up. It took him a little too long to realize that he was supposed to sit up as well, and no sooner had she slipped her hands right under his shirt and tugged it off. For once, Sandor actually knew what he was supposed to do: he was supposed to take off <em>her</em> shirt now. Or, maybe he didn’t even know that much because before he even had the chance to touch her, she’d pushed him right back down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He learned exactly what dogs liked so much about belly rubs when she scratched and stroked and kneaded his stomach. She also licked one of his nipples, but Sandor had never seen anyone do that to a dog. He’d never seen anyone <em>bite</em> a dog’s nipple either, but she did that too and he didn’t think any less of her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then, as if looking for more manners in which she could confuse and frustrate him, Sansa was getting off of the bed. The air was cold on his chest where she’d licked him, but the sounds of fabric sweeping to the floor reiterated to him that she didn’t think much of the cold. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>She’s taking off her clothes</em>, he realized, feeling his groin ache horribly. A drawer across the room opened and closed, and when she got back into the bed a few moments later it was apparent that she wasn’t naked after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s legs were on either side of him. One of her hands fell onto the lower half of his stomach as the other played with the button of his tattered jeans... and then the zipper... and then she was pushing aside the denim. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shivered. He leaned up on his elbows and squinted in the darkness to try to see her at all. He <em>really</em> wanted to see what was happening, and the worst part was that it’d been his fault that the damned lights were turned off in the first place. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After inefficiently trying to pull his jeans off, Sansa asked for him to lift his butt. She pulled his pants down to the middle of his thighs and then he was told to lay back down. If he’d done actual planning for their little sleepover, he wouldn’t have put on third-day briefs this morning. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did she want to have sex... <em>right now?</em> Her ‘I want you’s had been pretty self-explanatory, only... his belly was full of cookies and her weird vegan chicken nuggets. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor felt squeamish when he remembered how badly he’d wanted to have sex with her weeks ago, how he thought it was a fantastic idea and couldn’t wait to carry it out... and now he thought his heart might explode. He had absolutely no idea what to do. No fucking clue. Her fingertips were under his briefs again and a massive shiver ran through his back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?” asked Sansa, going perfectly still. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor gulped. <em>She felt the fucking shiver</em>. Again, he wished he could’ve nodded but it was too dark. <em>Yeah</em>, he said as firmly as he could manage. When she’d managed to pull his underwear down to match the jeans, he wasn’t so sure. He fell back down against one of her fluffy pillows and stared up into the endless darkness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa lowered herself onto her side and plopped a leg over his. It sounded like she spoke up for him to touch her, but Sandor was so utterly unable to concentrate that he didn’t move an inch until her hand came up to guide him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It became apparent that that she wanted him to take off her bra by the way she directed his fingers to the straps. How the fuck would he know how to deal with that manufactured sorcery? Couldn’t she, <em>perhaps</em>, from all of his horrid mishaps, discern the degree of his lack of coordination and experience? He couldn’t hug her without smushing her little toe, he couldn’t <em>kiss</em> her without shoving his nose into her eye— he couldn’t let her suck on <em>one</em> finger without poking that squiggly thing in the back of her throat— and she expected him to be capable of taking off a <em>bra</em>?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tried his bets with yanking it outward, but that only caused her to squeak. Next he tried tugging it over her head but Sansa giggled. She really liked <em>giggling</em> at him, he noticed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed. “Look, I really don’t know how to get you out of this miserable fucking straitjacket death trap.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughed much harder at his description of her undergarments. “Oh gosh, Sandor, it’s okay,” she said, and reached behind her back to undo it for him. He heard the clasp <em>click</em> apart and her meshy textured bra grazed the side of his chest before she chucked it off somewhere. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Why was everything so hazy? <em>Drugs are supposed to make someone feel this way, not an erection</em>, he thought. Her top was off and he couldn’t even fucking <em>see</em>.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Somewhere in his head Sandor knew that she took off the damned thing because she wanted him to touch her, but the concept of putting his hands on her like that was so intimidating. What part of it was he supposed to touch, exactly? Did she want him to lick her nipples like she’d licked his? Would she like it if he squeezed her tits? Sandor didn’t think he’d like his chest to be squeezed like that, but he didn’t have tits and he didn’t really know. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There weren’t many brain cells left idle to consider it when she put one of her hands on his cock. It was almost unbelievable that someone else was touching it. That little <em>oh</em> she’d made some minutes ago was a good thing, wasn’t it? That she was still touching him meant something <em>good</em>, didn’t it? The way that she slid her grip over him wasn’t exactly like the way he touched himself, but there was something exciting about that; he was hers right now, and she could do just about anything she wanted with him. And it was true, then, that she <em>did</em> <em>want</em> him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Sansa stretched over to kiss his neck, her boobs pressed onto his chest and he nearly lost it. Sandor already couldn’t breathe; his nerves were through the roof and he felt like every single cell in his body had died and been revived— and her nipples were so fucking <em>hard</em>. <em>Why?</em> <em>Are they always like that?</em> They were always like that in porn, but he didn’t think that her nipples should be like that if his weren’t. Maybe that assumption was flawed, as he couldn’t exactly lactate... but— it was all a massive mindfuck. Sandor thought that he was so ready for all of this <em>weeks ago</em> and now his heart seemed ready to give out at any moment and she’d only just begun stroking him. Maybe he <em>was</em> having a heart attack. Or maybe it was a dream.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite really wanting to lean towards her and see how she might like being touched, Sandor was frozen. The pleasure he was receiving was definitely a significant factor in his immobile state, but the other factor was that Sansa was straddling one of his thighs and whatever manner in which she was getting off, he wasn’t about to interrupt it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She certainly wasn’t <em>naked</em> though, which was odd, since he’d heard her take off her clothes... but something very fluffy was covering her butt and Sandor suspected that she exchanged her pants for pajamas. <em>Not fair.</em> Why should he have his junk out but she should be able to remain covered and comfortable? And how had he managed to forget his pajamas again? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was saying something, but for the life of him Sandor couldn’t figure out what it was. He’d been in her company a lot these past few months of knowing each other and he’d had many opportunities to count her limbs (four, to be exact), but the endless ways that her body touched his gave him the impression that she had many more. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>, this didn’t feel right, and not because he was scarcely another minute from coming. It was too fast, and it was only too fast because she didn’t fucking <em>know</em>. Somehow Sansa managed to do a floater right past all of the big red signs that pointed to <em>I’ve never gotten naked with anyone before</em>. And that made Sandor feel terrible, to his displeasure, because she was the only person in his life that he’d managed to trust in the last two decades. She was always doing everything she could to make him feel comfortable and safe and he was quite sure that if she knew the degree of his inexperience, this wouldn’t be happening like <em>this</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With every passing second, every renewed stroke from her reddened wrist, the possibility of having an orgasm faded. He wished he could, but the pain in his stomach made Sandor acutely aware that satisfaction was not in the near future. Her kisses on his collarbone made him feel guilty and sick and he reached out and stopped her hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pulled away and propped onto an arm. She stroked his shoulder gently and he shivered. “Is everything.. okay?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor scooted back and sat up against the headboard. He was quick to pull his briefs back on, but even after they were snug it wasn’t enough. He pulled some of her blankets over his groin as well. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have to tell you something,” he said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” said Sansa, sitting up and crossing her legs opposite him. He could see her annoyingly polite smile in his head if not through the darkness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The reason that I don’t...” <em>Fuck</em>, Sandor sighed. “The reason that I didn’t know... how to take offyour... <em>bra</em>, is because I’ve never taken one off before.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had the audacity to giggle again. “Well I assumed you hadn’t, since you don’t wear them.” <em>Hilarious</em>, he thought annoyedly. “It’s not a very traditional aspect of relationships, and you told me that you haven’t really been in relationships before anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You haven’t really been in relationships before</em>, he replayed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Sandor said. “I haven’t. No relationships. With anyone. Ever.” He hadn’t anticipated the silence. <em>Surely she’ll say </em>something, he thought, though each moment made the future less and and less predictable. And he wanted to see her face, even if he didn’t want her to see his... but <em>he’d asked her</em> to turn off the fucking lights. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No relationships,” repeated Sansa. “That’s okay, everyone starts at some point.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa... I haven’t.” Really, he would sooner write it down then say the words out loud. “I haven’t <em>started</em>. Not yet.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you talking about? <em>We’re</em> in a relationship, Sandor, I already told you. A relationship; boyfriend and girlfriend, you and me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled his eyes. Could she really be so dull? He was running out of vague expressions. “I’m not sure how else to put this.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hand tightened around his shoulder, and the tips of her acrylic fingers dug in. “Are you trying to say that...” her voice was low and calm, but there was evident suspicion.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” he said flatly, and he heard her gulp. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean you’ve never... slept with <em>anyone</em> before,” Sansa suggested, clenching and unclenching her hand on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”No...” Sandor said slowly. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re... a <em>virgin</em>,” she stated. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You don’t say</em>, Sandor thought, wishing she really hadn’t said it because the word made him feel like a fourteen year old. He would’ve liked to see the lightbulb go off in her head, only he still couldn’t see a thing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She made another one of her little <em>oh</em>’s. And then she fucking giggled. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I can’t imagine that Sandor being a virgin will be shocking to very many people, if anyone at all, but I didn’t want to explicitly say it until he said it himself. For anyone who doesn’t know lol, I have a major soft spot for virgin!sandor. A <em>major</em> <strong>major</strong> soft spot. Canonically I’ll accept him being experienced with paid sex but not intimacy, but even still he doesn’t really give off vibes imo of someone who has an even relatively satisfying sex life, so I’m living in Prompt 32’s hc 100%  </p><p><em>On another note...</em> I’ve been going through a lot with Sandor’s character profile these past few days (months, overall) and I’m just going to... put this here. I really hate the stereotype that there’s something wrong with men who aren’t constantly down for sex. Sex drive is a spectrum... and as there’s nothing wrong with women who have <em>high</em> sex drives, there’s nothing wrong with men who have <em>low</em> sex drives. That said, I wouldn’t constitute him as having a low sex drive in my story anyway, rather a suppressed one. Much of that has to do with his crippling insecurity about his burns. My poor Sandor has dysphoria, and dysphoria is very much capable of damaging one’s sex drive. </p><p>None of that is to mean that he doesn’t <em>want</em> to have sex ofc! Not only does he want to have sex because his body wants it, but it’s no secret that sex is intimate and personal and emotional... and who doesn’t want to be loved and wanted? He <em>definitely</em> wants to, but with his body insecurities, his trust issues, his depression and anxiety, his sex drive is just really suffering. And the fact that he’s a virgin is just the icing on the cake! </p><p>I’ve reached a point in the plot where the rest of this “act two” of sorts can go a few different ways, namely the joffrey-sansa-sandor-tormund plot. With respect of giving too much away, the first direction would be for everything to fizzle out <em>relatively</em> calmly without too much more of that drama. The second route would involve blackmail and scheming and secrets being revealed, and it would make part two a bit longer. Your feedback would be most appreciated as to what you’d prefer seeing. </p><p>Thanks for reading 💕</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Double sleepover date part two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Double sleepover slumber party date part TWO: Sandor’s apartment. Welcome to: ratatouille, rooftops, and real talk, with a side of sunsets, stargazing, and innocent wedding jokes. Cuddling, <em>obviously</em>.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry about the long wait! I’ve been struggling a bit these past weeks regarding my writing, regarding this fic, regarding sansan, but I’m hoping to get back on track. </p><p>My OCD would love for this to be the penultimate chapter (since part one had six total chapters) but there’s going to have to be at least two more.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A virgin</em>, Sansa thought, the concept unable to stray from her head longer than twenty five seconds at a time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In hindsight, she should’ve been able to figure that out sooner, as now nothing could be more obvious. <em>Of course</em> he was a virgin. Had she been so full of herself when they were together that the thought didn’t even occur to her? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It didn’t seem so... because she knew he wasn’t anything of a skilled kisser, and he could hardly walk by her side without giving her an injury. The nervousness on his face when she’d touched him had always been a bit odd as well, and the way that he trembled... but honestly Sansa didn’t think much of it other than that he was, well... nervous! She knew that he was insecure, and that made it reasonable enough for her to assume that he was simply... uptight about situations that would make him vulnerable. </span> <span class="s1">Sandor walked around like he thought his scars made him look like some sort of hideous hell goblin, which was, again, more than enough to give her cause for his nervousness. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What she didn’t think was that he was clumsy because he’d never touched a girl before, or that he was nervous because he himself had never been touched. Sandor simply didn’t look like someone who would be a twenty-five year old virgin. Half of his face might’ve been scarred, but he was tall and fit and the other half of his face was perfectly fine besides. <em>Did he want to be a virgin?</em> Sansa wondered. <em>Was he waiting for marriage or something?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No</em>, Sansa settled, <em>probably not</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was snoring against her shoulder and there was a damp spot on her skin that felt alarmingly like drool. It was making her a little uncomfortable but it’d taken him so long to fall asleep and the quiet provided a good environment for her to think. His snoring wasn’t exactly <em>quiet</em>, but it served as suitable white noise. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For what must’ve been a good half hour after his confession he sat stubbornly against the headboard, not even moving to put his clothes on properly. Eventually she wanted to see his face, to make sure that he wasn’t crying. He seemed too accustomed to crying silently and discreetly, and she would have none of that, least of all when they were together. When Sansa flicked the lights on, Sandor didn’t waste any time pulling the blankets over his chest. His lack of hesitation made her stomach queasy, but she was relieved to see that both of his eyes were dry. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">He was just so <em>embarrassed</em>... and there was nothing to be embarrassed of! It made her chest ache to put confidence in the idea that the cause for his virginity was because he thought he wasn’t good enough for anyone, or attractive enough for anyone. That said, she couldn’t block out those assumptions. That probably <em>was</em> the reason, identical to the reason for his utter lack of relationships, and perhaps for his lack of friends as well.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><em>Gosh</em>, Sansa’s first ‘relationship’ had been when she was thirteen. Or, no— first grade. How she’d insisted to her parents as a seven year old that she’d found her Prince Charming. Of course it wasn’t a very <em>long</em> relationship, nor had it gone very far... but she thought of it as a childhood rite of passage. Somehow she had the suspicion that seven-year-old Sandor didn’t have a replica her of young romance... and it wasn’t utterly surprising considering that was the ripe age of his trauma. It shamed her to think what she would’ve done seeing his scars as a little girl, and she was very grateful that they met when they did.</p><p class="p2">  </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Ugh. To hell with Tormund,</em> Sansa thought. Sandor had been perfectly alright with taking off his shirt just a week ago and now it could hardly happen in the utter darkness. One hateful remark had bulldozed <em>weeks</em> of him becoming more comfortable with himself. Or... maybe it hadn’t, honestly, Sansa considered. Maybe she hadn’t made him as secure with himself as she’d thought she had if one comment from someone who didn’t like him could put him in such a state. It was obviously a horrible thing to say, but Tormund was never Sandor’s friend, so she’d expected the sting to have worn down by now. But Sandor still loathed himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or maybe, maybe none of it was really about Tormund’s stupid comment, maybe it was just consequential of all of the years that Sandor built up hating himself. <em>That</em>, of course, wouldn’t be resolved in just a few weeks, and it was naive of her to have thought so. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa snaked her arm out from under his and laid her hand over his heart. He was snoring against the side of her head but for such a sizable person, it really wasn’t a very intimidating sound. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He’s never been touched at all, she thought</em>. Never, by anyone. How could she not have noticed for all this time? And what should she do about it now that she did know? Why hadn’t he told her sooner? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he’d told her sooner, there was no way Sansa would’ve gone after him like she did. God, she covered her face in her hand abashedly, even though he was asleep and couldn’t see her. She’d really thrown herself at him... repeatedly. A few of those times she might’ve been emboldened by alcohol, but still... none of it would’ve happened had she known that he was a virgin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wasn’t sure what she should do now. Sansa assumed that he didn’t want to... retain his <em>state of inexperience, </em>considering that he’d been quite willing to.. <em>experience</em> with her. However, what if he wanted his first time to be special? What if he wanted roses and music and candles? No, he definitely, absolutely would <em>not</em> want candles. Obviously he wasn’t very much concerned with a <em>ceremonious</em> first time as he’d let her put a hand on his prick just a little while ago. He’d already, more or less, gotten <em>naked</em>, for heaven’s sake. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa cringed, trying to draw her legs up to her knees to hold herself, but Sandor was in the way. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He <em>had</em> been quite uneasy now that she thought back on it, all nervous and shaky and frozen. What if he hadn’t wanted her to do those things? Maybe she would’ve known... had she <em>asked</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa swallowed and scrunched her eyes closed, wishing she could will it all away from both of their memories. If he hadn’t wanted to do any of those things, he could’ve said so any time and she definitely would’ve stopped... Only, if Sansa had been focused on anything other than <em>herself</em> she could’ve asked him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Out of nowhere the little hairs on her arms stood up, and she started to feel like there were bugs crawling on her skin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What if he thought that she’d— No, there’s no way that Sandor could’ve thought that she had... <em>assaulted</em> him. After all.. the tented state of his pants was good enough evidence that he’d been willing, wasn’t it? And they hadn’t actually had— </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No, that’s a terrible way to look at it</em>, Sansa scolded herself, snapping her feet out and accidentally kicking Sandor’s leg. He didn’t seem to be in much pain, but their collision had caused him to stir. Sandor took in a long breath that made his body vibrate as he stretched from shoulder to toe. He rubbed his face, and then she could almost feel him looking at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry!” Sansa whispered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor scratched his head. “Are you okay?” he mumbled hazily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her heart clenched. Was she okay, he wanted to know, even though she’d just kicked him in the shin. Sansa leaned forward to kiss his cheek and he laid his head back against the pillow contentedly. His arm fell around her again and he snuggled closer, curling into himself and pushing his forehead against her collar. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take that as a yes,” he rasped. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In another moment, Sansa was sure he’d fallen right back asleep. She brought her fingers to the side of his head, tracing the outside of his good ear gently. The scent of him had become very comforting to her of late, and she was grateful that it’d managed to engulf her bed in such a manner that made sleep come easily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That being said, sleep wasn’t coming very <em>easily</em> to Sansa now as guilt weighed down her conscience. And the way she’d <em>giggled</em> at him all night was just the icing on the cake of shame. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she really hadn’t been a very good girlfriend. Thoughtful, for sure; she took pride in her thoughtfulness and attention to detail... but she certainly didn’t mean to insinuate to Sandor that those gestures were meant only to get him out of his clothes. Though how could she blame him if he thought that?— She stripped down on their very first date, and just the next day they were in her bed together, even if only literally. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was crucial time that Sansa should’ve spent trying to get to know him, trying to produce an environment where he could trust her and talk to her. She couldn’t say she’d done so very efficiently. She knew that he didn’t like pop songs, the sun, or lemons. He didn’t like crowds or hot coffee or mirrors, and he explicitly refused to watch dog movies because ‘the dogs always die’— he didn’t care whether or not people died on screen, but dog deaths were a dealbreaker. She knew that he stopped eating red meat as she had, but, Sansa didn’t know for certain, assumed was less about <em>concern</em> for his <em>diet</em> and more about wanting to impress her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knew those things about him— the books that he was passionate about, the shampoo and conditioner he used, his star sign and his favorite outfits— but those weren’t exactly ‘the important things.’ She couldn’t speak as to many of his memories before they’d met, in fact the only memory she could think of was his horrible burn story, and a few cryptic comments about how his brother used him as a punching bag for a while. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor didn’t really like to talk about those things... at all. They’d only talked about his past once and his emotional frenzy had been enough to deter her from ever asking about it, but now she hoped she didn’t seem uninterested.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pulled him tighter to her. She was going to make sure that he knew exactly how interested she was. <em>Tomorrow</em>, she thought. <em>Definitely tomorrow</em>... for the second night of the double sleepover slumber party date... because tonight all she wanted to do was finally close her eyes and...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What the fuck was I thinking?</em> Sandor wondered dully, staring at the tall stack of waffles at the center of the Starks’ dining table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He never should’ve gotten into the details about his inexperience. By her reaction, she wasn’t anywhere close to figuring out on her own, and now thanks to him she knew the extent of his immaturity all too well. <em>Twenty five and a fucking virgin</em>, he thought mournfully. No one had known and no one would’ve known if he knew how to keep his damned mouth shut. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor contemplated how the situation would’ve gone had he just fucked her, like she’d seemed to want, and kept the secret of his virginity to himself. Would she have noticed? He wondered if it would’ve been a better idea to take notes from some porn videos before their sleepover, or really anytime before the next instance in which she had her tits out and invited him to take advantage of such an opportunity. Also he would need to learn how to unhook a fucking bra. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor watched a lot of porn in his free time, when he wasn’t eating or working or talking to Sansa (though sometimes he did multitask wanking off with all three), but at no time in his life had he focused on the fucking <em>techniques</em>. Perhaps there were some things he could—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa kicked his leg gently with her bare toes and his glance shot to her from his plate. Robb and Jon weren’t over this weekend, nor Bran and Rickon... which left Sansa, her parents and Arya to have breakfast together. And to make matters worse, he had to settle with sitting across from Sansa because of Arya’s mischief. Obviously Sandor wouldn’t pettily fight to get a seat next to her, but was it so unreasonable to want to sit next to his own girlfriend? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Apparently Sansa was getting his attention because Catelyn had been trying to talk to him, but Sandor had been too busy thinking about what type of porn he should study to bring her daughter the best sex he could hope to offer. He felt heat on his face but took comfort in the hope that Sansa’s mother didn’t have a secret mind reading ability. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned’s waffles were really tasty, but honestly Sandor couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was hard to sit still with so many eyes on his face in general, but even worse that they were her parents’ eyes. Her parents’ eyes, setting on his face too often for comfort when he reflected that Sansa had sucked on his fingers right over there the previous night, right against the marble countertop. And he could hardly fucking swallow the stupid <em>upgraded pancakes</em> when his mind flashed with what had happened upstairs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s stomach filled with warmth as he thought of Sansa’s tongue on his nipples, and her gentle fingers on his cock, and her tits hovering over his chest. Of course the flashback of the <em>bra</em> ruined it, remembering how his fingers had gotten all sorts of stiff when he groped at the weird clasp, and how Sansa just <em>giggled</em> at his struggled and threw it across the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though after her satanic straitjacket deathtrap had been removed, it was perfect for at least ten minutes. Everything was perfect, even the unnatural temperature that his skin had taken on beneath her. Every cell was on fire for what couldn’t have been more than... ten minutes, but it was so perfect and it’d been ruined because his body wouldn’t allow him to be dishonest with her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His pants were getting familiarly tight as he recalled how she’d kissed his neck and Sandor reminded himself that right now, in front of half her family with half a stack of waffles waiting to be eaten, was probably not the time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Needless to say, Sandor was relieved when breakfast was finally over. Obviously Arya hadn’t ‘warmed up to him’ yet, as Sansa had said that she would. She didn’t protest his existence quite as much as she had the past few times he’d seen her, but it seemed like all she did was stare at his scars, and simultaneously brand more into him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa didn’t want to linger long; she made quick do of getting all of her ‘necessities’ packed up for a night at his flat, and then she was saying goodbye to her parents... and then he was saying goodbye to her parents. He wasn’t really sure why she was so eager to spend the night in his shithole apartment— perhaps she was planning on finishing what they’d started the night before... but his stiff mattress didn’t seem like anything special for having sex on, and she would’ve known that because she’d laid on it before. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor followed obediently to her car with his tattered backpack slung over his shoulder, and he would’ve done that stupid thing that ‘gentlemen’ did in rom-coms and opened the car door for her— but she beat him to it. It would’ve been weird anyway, since she was driving.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">About five minutes into the drive she glanced at him briefly and said, “I think I’m getting sort of hungry.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor blinked. “<em>Hungry?</em> How can you be <em>hungry?</em>” he asked. “We <em>just</em> ate, Sansa. You just had <em>two</em> waffles.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One and a half,” she corrected, waving a hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They were huge fucking waffles,” Sandor pointed out. “You know that thing about your stomach being roughly the size of your fist? You ate enough for three fists—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh stop it, Sandor! Don’t you know it’s rude to comment about other people’s eating habits? Besides, breakfast was so sweet. I want something salty now.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Rude</em>, Sandor pondered. “Well... we can stop somewhere. Do you want, like, fries or something? I have some chips at home, too, if you can stand your low sodium levels for... twenty six more minutes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa <em>hmm</em>ed. “What sort of chips do have?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Salt and vinegar, I think.” He thought hard on it, imagining the inside of his cabinet to search for any and all flavors he might have to offer, but Sansa’s laughter interrupted his concentration. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Salt and vinegar, huh? Leave it to you to make the most controversial chip your favorite.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed. “They’re not my favorite— in fact, I think they taste like acid. I only bought them because you said that you liked them,” he mumbled. “So leave it to <em>you</em> to favorite the most controversial chip.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re not my...” Her cheek flushed, though she seemed unable to decide between a smile or a frown. “You got them for me?” she lulled, settling on a smile that grew brighter and brighter as though he’d said he’d gotten them fare to visit the moon. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re just chips, Sansa,” Sandor laughed, a little nervous about her gratitude. “Anyway, I don’t think I have anything else you’ll like. We can stop and buy some snacks at a gas station or something.“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you not have anything else at your apartment?” Sansa asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cast a curious glance at him. “Well... what?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know off the top of my head.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should we... go to the grocery store?” Sansa looked into the rear view mirror. “I mean, do you have enough food? Are you—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, I have <em>enough food</em>,” Sandor said impatiently. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took a turn that most certainly did not lead to Sandor’s flat, and ten minutes later they were at the grocery store. Apparently she didn’t believe him when he’d said he had enough food. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa took an excruciatingly amount of time walking him through each aisle, looking over every section and scooping out something that Sandor just <em>needed</em> in his kitchen. One of these <em>necessities</em> being a candy thermometer, which he’d snuck out of the cart when her head was turned. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor reached into the cart and pulled out a can. “Are these for me?” he asked, twisting to read the labels. “Why <em>exactly</em> do I need sweetened condensed milk again?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> She didn’t look up. </span>With another concentrated glance into the cart, he started to notice a pattern of baking ingredients. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa turned briefly from one of the shelves. “Do you have flour at your apartment?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” said Sandor flatly. “What is this for?” he gestured to the sweetened condensed milk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s for our cake,” she said plainly, and threw a bag of all purpose flour into the cart. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What <em>cake</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The cake we’re going to make later,” Sansa strolled forward with the cart and concentratedly searched for something unbeknownst to Sandor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolled his eyes and stepped in front of the cart, stopped her in her path and reached his hand into the basket to grope aimlessly. He extended a vegetable in front of her. “And what about this eggplant? Is this for our cake, too?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sansa laughed, backed her cart up and turned it gracefully to push past the obstacle of Sandor Clegane. “That’s for our ratatouille,” she said matter-of-factly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ratatouille,” Sandor repeated. <em>What the fuck is ratatouille, </em>he wondered miserably. Sandor sighed and dropped the eggplant back into the cart. After a brief <em>what am I doing here? </em>moment, he shoved his hands into his pockets and resigned to follow her as patiently and silently as he could manage. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He practically fought Sansa for the bill when it was time to cash out, but she ended up ‘winning,’ in her words, and paying for all of the groceries. Sandor didn’t feel comfortable with her paying for his frozen dinosaur chicken nuggets, or his quadruple-choco-and-peanut-butter-cup ice cream, but he wasn’t willing to rip her credit card out of the slot while the neon-vested security prowled around checkout. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ride to his flat was different from any of the other car rides they’d gone on together, namely because of the conversation Sansa craved. She wanted to talk about... <em>him</em>. <em>Had he played a high school sport</em>, she wanted to know, <em>and which exotic animal would he like to have as a pet. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were odd things that she was wondering, and his answers were even more so. She didn’t give much away as to her opinion about his lack of team sport history, and apparently the correct answer to her exotic animal question was <em>sloth</em>, not... <em>bearded dragon</em>. The questions went on and on, and his answers kept getting weirder, right until she pulled over beside his building. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they unpacked the groceries and put them away, Sansa’s questions continued. Sandor suspected that she got them from some <em>table talk</em> conversation starter sort of thing. Her blueberry eyes had been replaced with white spotlights when she took on her role as <em>interviewer</em>, and they grew brighter and brighter as she awaited her interviewee’s answers. It made him feel wary and exposed to materialize his opinions and feelings, and occasionally events from the past... even though most of the questions were of neutral intimacy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em> ‘neutral intimacy,’ they were all intimate— every inquiry about his past or his family or his experiences, there was nothing neutral about those. </span> <span class="s1">The anticipation before every single question made his heart freeze as he waited to hear her voice again, and when it was his time to talk about himself the air clogged in his lungs. There was no real range of intimacy, Sandor knew, because whether Sansa asked about his favorite ice cream topping or whether or not he wanted a family when he was ‘older,’ the things that she was saying and the relaxed tone in which she said them made his body stop working. It wasn’t practical. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was something that made his chest feel warm about it, however— warm, that is, when he had enough self-control to breathe and actually <em>think</em> about what she was saying. Truthfully he couldn’t recall another instance in the last five years where someone genuinely wanted to get to know him, much less someone of which he felt mutual curiosity. She answered all of them; every single question that she asked Sandor she made sure to answer as well, and yet he had a hunch that it wasn’t nearly as emotionally taxing for her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile the vegetables for Sansa’s ratatouille were <em>hell on earth</em> to prepare. Sansa was oddly excited to cut the zucchini, and Sandor would’ve settled on the eggplant... had she not asked him if he might be able to cut the tomatoes. <em>Tomatoes are too hard to slice</em>, she’d said, <em>they don’t have any internal structural integrity</em>. Truthfully speaking, Sandor had been hers as soon as she’d said ‘please,’ but he eagerly let her get on with gratitude for completing such a task. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cut the stupid <em>structural integrity-less</em> Roma tomatoes, and he cut his fingers three times along the way. Whether or not the slices were thin enough for Sansa’s liking was another matter entirely, but Sandor’s hands were covered in transparent red vegetable entrails by the second tomato, and really he was tired of cutting himself up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Earlier at the grocery store when Sansa found out that Sandor lacked, of all things, a pie dish (gasp), she’d been hasty to buy one. It was white deep and cream-colored with burnt orange trim, and the outer edges were curly as a template for the hypothetical pie crust.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She spread an extra seasoned, pre-made tomato sauce into the pie dish. Then came their dozens of thinly sliced zucchini, eggplant and tomato— which the two of them first stacked individually into a pattern on a spare plate until there were several high piles of tricolored slices. Sansa, with her pretty, nimble fingers, layered the vegetables over the sauce in a clean spiral.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor could already tell that their stupid <em>ratatouille</em> was overrated. Vegetables? An entire hour in the oven? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nevertheless, not a moment after it was in the oven Sansa threw her arms around him and pressed her ear to his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every time she embraced him, without fail, the warmth that she brought to his chest and his arms and neck... it was incomparable to anything else. For someone nearly a foot shorter than him and probably half his weight, the <em>security</em> that she induced in him was just... it wasn’t like anything else. That said, this hug was extra tight and extra eager and Sandor sure as hell needed it, but he didn’t know where exactly the rush was coming from. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“Are you okay?” he asked, bending his head down to hers. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s not make a cake,” Sansa said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Good, then she was as tired as he was. Sandor sighed. “Let’s not.” After several minutes of hugging between the countertop and the sink, they moved their embrace to the couch. Sansa set a timer on her phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was very gentle and very slow and very <em>careful</em> as she invited him to lay down on his own couch. When he was settled on his back, she was just as gentle and slow and careful as she spread out flat over him. Sandor had gotten some blackout curtains of his own for the living room, but there was a crack between the sheets of fabric that allowed them a glimmer of light. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing happened for what felt like a million years. Sandor hadn’t gotten to watch any porn videos for referencing, because honestly he hadn’t been let out of her sight the <em>entire day</em> save a few bathroom breaks. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he just figured out what to do with her help, since porn was said to be staged anyway. He hadn’t been able to do any ‘research,’ but <em>maybe</em> it would still be good... for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only now that Sandor was ready to bite the bullet and just go with it, it didn’t seem an option. Sansa was motionless on his chest; she was relaxed. She wasn’t making any moves on him, and as she’d been rather direct with her moves before, the lack thereof was very evident. Perhaps she simply wasn’t in the mood, but Sandor couldn’t help taking it a lot more personally, even as her fingers twisted gently in his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>This is because of me, </em>he thought drolly. <em>Because I told her. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor opened his eyes and saw her staring through the crack in the curtains. She looked sad, even, and he didn’t like it at all. He dragged her hand onto his chest and she lifted her head up. A light blush spread over her cheeks and she slid her hand back off timidly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. <em>Of course</em> she was less attracted to him now that she knew he had the sexual maturity of a twelve year old, and considering how little attraction she must’ve had for him before...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor tilted his head back and stared up at a dark spot on the ceiling.“When I told you yesterday that I... well, it was stupid.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa lifted her head off his chest and wrinkled her eyebrows at him. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I know that it’s not... <em>conventionally attractive</em> for guys to...” he broke their eye contact, “for them to... Fuck, Sansa, I don’t want to say it again.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shifted herself up to a hover and spread her hands out on his chest. Obviously his remark had caught her off guard. “Sandor... you’re not ‘<em>conventionally attractive</em>.’” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sandor snorted. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took approximately three seconds before she was beet red with shame, covering and uncovering her mouth. “I mean— <em>Crap</em>, that’s not— No, you’re very... um...” her skin grew impressively redder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It certainly didn’t feel good to hear her say such a thing, even if it was an accident, but Sandor was too entranced with her frantic apologetic mumbling and explaining to focus very much on her initial comment. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa covered her eyes. “I’m very attracted to you. You know that, don’t you? You must know that by now,” she insisted. “Very <em>very</em> attracted to you. But you’re not... um... you’re not, I guess... You don’t have the whole blonde hair, blue eyes thing going for you, is what I mean to say... and I don’t want you to because... <em>Shit</em>,” she peeked out from between two fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve already done the blond, blue-eyed thing,” Sansa admitted. “Twice. But it didn’t work out. They‘re both rotten on the inside. But you... you’re not rotten anywhere. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You get upset really easily and I think you drink too much and you’re not very good at talking about your feelings,” Sansa smiled nervously. “But you’re strong and thoughtful and sweet. Maybe not so sweet to Arya or Tormund, but really sweet to me. Your,” her hands hovered awkwardly over his midriff and she sighed. “Your hair is long and soft and beautiful and you have some of the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Sandor’s turn to wrinkle his brow. “My eyes are <em>gray</em>,” he pointed out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa frowned exaggeratedly. “I know, I <em>am</em> the one who’s looking at them.” She leaned forward. “What I mean is... There’s nothing wrong with you, Sandor. Not the scars, and certainly not being a virgin.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor cringed when she said it. Why did she <em>insist</em> on using that word?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It wasn’t stupid of you at all to tell me. Honestly,” she averted her gaze and the color inched back across her cheeks, “I was worried that you were upset about all of my... <em>advances</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What?</em>” Sandor pushed up onto his elbows. <em>Upset</em> about her wanting to touch him? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well... I thought that maybe I was being a bit too... <em>direct</em>, and that you might’ve thought I was only interested in sleeping with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a long moment of gaping at her, Sandor let out a short laugh. “No, Sansa,” he shook his head and sat up to hold her. “I didn’t think that. I thought— I don’t know exactly, but I didn’t think that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I sort of... like it,” Sansa admitted quietly. “That you’ve never slept with anyone before. It’s kind of sweet.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor snorted again. “You make it out like it was my choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The timer on her phone went off but they both held off from breaking their embrace for as long as they could bear the awful <em>errr errr errr</em>ing of the alarm. Eventually she reached over to shut it off, but then they were right back to a seated cuddle; Sansa with her arms and legs wrapped around him, and Sandor holding her tightly against his front. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor lazily pressed his lips to her neck and sighed contentedly. He thought he could smell the lemon-coconut soap on her skin, or maybe she’d put some of that lemon essential oil behind her ear. But there was another scent that he couldn’t identify. He tried to sniff her skin as discreetly and subtly as he could so as not to be any freakier, but unfortunately Sandor was about as graceful as a two-legged hyena and his sniffing was obvious even to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What... are you doing?” Sansa laughed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you <em>wearing?</em>” he asked, taking a deep breath against her shoulder. The way he’d been breathing the last few moments had caused him to become a little lightheaded, or maybe it was just a consequence of how divine she smelled. Or <em>maybe</em> it was just a consequence of her sitting in his lap as she was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was beginning to feel the heat of the summer day, despite it being evening and him being in an air conditioned apartment. His clothes had been comfortable in the morning, but now they were tight, and he was so warm. He brushed Sansa’s hair back with a finger. “Right here,” he said, “new perfume? It’s... different.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Sansa lulled. “It’s a new perfume. It’s called ‘Winter Berry,’ which I’m pretty sure is cranberry. And the shampoo and conditioner I used this morning were almond scented.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Usually Sandor would’ve responded to that with a crack about her using something called <em>Winter Berry</em> in the middle of summer, but currently that was very low on his priorities. He was mustering up the confidence to kiss her neck, trying to recall the way that she’d kissed and touched him the previous night so that she might enjoy it at least half as much as he had, but Sansa pushed on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face was blotchy red. “Sandor,” she combed her hair with her fingers and smiled. “We have to take the food out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fine</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Along the way she inquired as to whether or not he knew of a place where they might be able to <em>stargaze</em>, of all things.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Stargaze?</em>” Sandor asked as he reached two mitted hands into the oven. “The sun hasn’t even set yet.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, but it’s going to soon!” Sansa pointed out the sink window, where the sky was turning orangey blue-purple. “See? And then after it’s set we can watch the stars.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Watch them</em>, he thought, as if they were going anywhere observable. Sandor scratched his head and shoved the oven mitts back into the drawer. It was extremely unsurprising that <em>Sansa</em> enjoyed stargazing, though generally he couldn’t understand what was so fascinating about staring at white-yellow dots thousands of miles away. It’d be one thing to look at them through a telescope, but Sandor didn’t have one, and as far as he knew she hadn’t brought one in that canvas bag of hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, there’s the fire escape,” he waved a hand toward his bedroom and she glared at him. “Uhhh... we can go on the roof if you really want to. Or we can lay in the middle of the road,” he shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got. Unless you want to drive somewhere.” He really hoped she didn’t want to drive anywhere. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa lifted a scoop out of the ratatouille and it steamed. “The roof?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s accessible from the fourth floor. I don’t really go up there. A few of the other tenants are always smoking up, and besides I just don’t like them.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he tried to make his own plate she swatted his hand away. Apparently <em>she</em> wanted to make their plates. “I want to go up there! Can we? Please?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed. He knew he was going to miserable if they had company. And what if Sansa ended up <em>liking</em> the other tenants? That would be a true nightmare. “Yeah,” he said unenthusiastically. “We can go up. It’s not a very nice view though.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll be looking at the stars,” she smiled teasingly. “The stars are always a nice view.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Not with the light pollution in this region</em>, Sandor bit back. “Fine.” The last he knew, the people who hung out on the roof had their own lawn chairs set up, but surely Sansa was going to want blankets and pillows. Hell, she probably wanted candles as well but that little wish wouldn’t be granted in Sandor’s company. “I’ll get a few blankets,” he mumbled and stalked off. He knew he didn’t have half as many blankets in his entire flat as she did on her bed alone, but she’d have to make do. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Blankets?” Sansa called out, “they’ll get dirty, won’t they?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably,” he turned and shrugged. “Good thing there’s a washer and a dryer in the basement.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor slung a heavy blanket over his shoulder, tucked a thinner, smaller one under one arm and stuffed two pillows under the other. Sansa carried their plates. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door that opened out to the roof had a a sticking knob, so it took a good kick to get it open. The roof was uneven; dipped in some places, raised in others, and there was the occasional <em>soft spot</em>. It made Sandor <em>very</em> wary, but the concrete did, however, feel cool and nice under his bare feet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The whole area was outlined with a two foot tall ledge, and it was flat besides... so there was no way to fall off, only... Sandor’s stomach ached regardless. Maybe he was just hungry. Thankfully no one else was out there, and that calmed his nerves significantly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Sansa was prowling around and looking out, occasionally leaning over the edge (thus making his heart halt), Sandor laid out their blankets. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first blanket was an indigo comforter. It was secondhand, truthfully; the sheet that it was enclosed was probably the most expensive part. The second blanket was a thin, floppy gray fleece. He could see the ashes floating around in the wind and he wished he’d had time to sweep before they came out.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sat down on the makeshift blanket nest. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as hers, especially the part where there was a concrete roof under his ass instead of her fluffy mattress. He covered up under the fleece and dragged his plate of rata-something into his lap. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Look,” she pointed, “the sun’s going down,” but once he looked up it was difficult to take his eyes off her figure. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This freaky vegetable casserole is going to <em>go down</em> as well—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”No, Sandor! Wait!” she raced over to the uncomfortable blanket nest and snatched his plate out, pulling it over to her concrete ‘nightstand’ as she settled under the blankets. “I can’t believe you were going to try it without me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”I wasn’t <em>really</em> going to,” he insisted, and Sansa narrowed her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She propped the plates in front of them but held an arm out when Sandor dared reach for his fork. </span> <span class="s1">“We have to feed each other the first bites,” she insisted. </span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have to <em>what</em>?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was scooping up a very <em>sizable</em> bite which, if her last comment was any indication, was meant for him. “The first bites, we have to feed them to each other. It’s traditional. It’s like what they do at weddings, both fiancés feed each other the first slice of cake. So just act like we’re getting married, and that this is our... wedding cake.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked down at their plates. “But it’s not—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Goddamnit, Sandor, use your imagination!” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Fine, alright. Wedding cake.” He couldn’t imagine that the flavor profiles were going to be anything alike, even though he couldn’t remember ever having gone to a wedding, and thus he’d never technically had <em>wedding cake</em>... but that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t particularly dreadful to imagine marrying Sansa, however, in fact it wouldn’t have been the first time today. (The first time was when she strolled their shopping cart down the hygiene aisle and fetched a bunch of ‘better’ men’s products for him, like deodorant without aluminum, shampoo without sodium laurel sulfate and a tube of charcoal toothpaste. Honestly he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted, but either way it seemed like a very <em>wifely</em> thing to do.)</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He prepared a fork for her, and they had to weave their arms together awkwardly for the sake of ‘sticking to tradition.’ Sandor didn’t know of this tradition, and he didn’t think he’d be eager to practice it again anytime soon. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">For a moment they held both forks in front of each other’s mouths, Sandor with <em>extreme, calculated</em> care not to poke her face with the prongs. And then when their <em>wedding cake moment</em> occurred, it was just... it was just a <em>bite</em>. One bite of steamy rata-whateverthefuck. But the way she was looking at him was weird. Her eyes were so <em>big</em>, and the whole sky was orangey purple, and the old comforter under their bums did absolutely nothing to dull the hard concrete that lurked just beneath but there was euphoria in sitting on the rooftop with her and... All of it made the bite <em>better</em>. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The actual food though... <em>eh</em>. Mediocre. Well seasoned, but absolutely not worth slicing those tomatoes, slicing his fingers in the process, nor waiting an hour for it to be done. Though he’d never ever <em>tell</em> her that, because obviously she was really proud of herself, and <em>he</em> was really proud of her too, and being a dick would’ve ripped the smile off her face. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">She was still staring at him though, and it made him feel like he was supposed to do something. Was there some other part of this ‘wedding cake tradition’ that he didn’t know about...? Sandor pulled his mouth awkwardly into a smile— the side, that is, that was capable of smiling. But obviously that wasn’t what she was waiting for, so he dropped his fork into the plate and kissed her, and she curled her arms around him... and when they were separated again she wasn’t waiting anymore. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">As usual he wolfed his food down, and when the sun was down properly, and he couldn’t see her clearly anymore, Sandor heard her making some wolfing noises of her own. Picturing what she looked like made him ugly-smile, though it didn’t matter much because she couldn’t see him clearly either. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The pillows were too cheap to be sufficiently comfortable under their heads, but Sansa didn’t complain. She didn’t complain about much, he noticed, which was honestly reassuring as otherwise he would’ve felt very helpless to accommodate her standards. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The light pollution wasn’t as bad as Sandor expected, but the stars, similar to their dinner, were kind of overrated. White-yellow dots millions of miles away that didn’t really do anything special except <em>twinkle</em>, if that could be considered ‘special.’</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">However, similar to their otherwise underwhelming dinner, Sansa <em>made</em> them more special. And the worst part was, she didn’t even know<em>...</em> and he didn’t know how to say it out loud. Just, naturally, she was so light and lovely and simply being around her made everything else not just... bearable, but enjoyable. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa pointed to the few constellations she could identity. The placements of the stupid sky dots weren’t very interesting, but it was cute hearing how much they fascinated her. And when she grabbed his hand to point to the stars with... that got Sandor’s attention. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">She got tired of talking about the sky eventually, and she pulled his arm between them and kissed the side of his hand closest to her. “Thank you for bringing the blankets up,” Sansa said. “I’m having a really good time.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor was trying to find something equally as kind to say, but obviously he took too long because she pushed his arm out the way and snuggled against front. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“I know that we talked about this on the couch,” said Sansa quietly, “but I didn’t say everything that I wanted to.” He felt her fingers slide over his cheek. “That thing about you being a virgin...”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor rolled his eyes and sighed. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“No, just listen,” she said. “I’m really... <em>sorry</em> about how I’ve been acting.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">”Sansa, I already told you, I never thought that you were just trying to get in my pants—“</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">”No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean... I haven’t been doing the right things. When I asked you all those questions today, we should’ve been talking about that stuff weeks ago. On our first date, and our second, and instead I just... I wasn’t doing the right things and I’m really sorry.” He could feel her dragging a finger over the line on his forehead, where his skin changed. She was wrong, she’d been nothing but perfect since she cut his fucking hair.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“What I’m trying to say is that... what’s important to you is important to me,” Sansa said. ”I really care about you. I sort of... I think that I... I know that we haven’t been together for very long but it <em>feels</em> like we have. It feels like I’ve known you for a really long time, and because of that I just got... um... distracted.” She dragged her fingers over his burns and Sandor held his breath. “Your scars don’t mean anything to me that you think they do, Sandor. I don’t think less of you for them. I <em>promise</em>.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Her voice got really quiet on the last word and she touched his lips with her forefinger. “I know that what Tormund said took a toll on you, but you have to know that I don’t feel that way. At all,” she gave a little laughter, but it wasn’t wholly humorous. “And I understand that you’re insecure about being... inexperienced...” <em>Thank god</em>, Sandor thought, <em>finally a less blunt way to put it</em>. “...but I don’t want you to be ashamed of anything. I know that this is going to sound really cliché, but you’re perfect to me. <em>Perfect.” </em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">His lips were all but quivering when she kissed them, and she was so gentle that it made his heart pound.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“And there’s no one else in the world that I’d rather be on this roof with.” Sandor could tell by her voice that she was smiling. “Even if your blanket nest is inferior to mine.” She squeezed him really tightly, “Okay that’s all, I think.”</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uhhhh let me just say... that third paragraph after Sandor’s POV starts, where he’s wondering whether or not Sansa would’ve noticed had they just gotten on with it without him fessing up— </p><p>Allow me to give you guys just a little <em>sneak peak</em> as to what his relationship with sex is. (You can hold your breath for this one, it’s not very extensive.) Eighth grade sex ed, censored scenes from movies and tv shows, and porn. Literally he doesn’t have the first clue about the reality of the “first time.” I’ll... let that blossom in your minds so that whatever might occur during said loss of virginity won’t be quite so unwarranted.</p><p>thanks for all the support &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Drawing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Therapy sessions with Cat, Sandor gets the third apology in thirty-six hours, contents of a certain bag get revealed, and a key gets offered. And obviously there are cuddles, too!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mom?” Sansa hugged herself as she walked into the upstairs office. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes?” She was there, sitting at her desk with a notepad to her left and a cup of coffee to her right. Her swivel chair rolled around when she heard Sansa’s voice. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip. “Are you busy?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay? I can take... five minutes.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s legs felt a little shaky as she pulled a chair over and sat by the desk. “I need help.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without providing a shred of context, Sansa started off a profuse babble with ‘I have a problem with Sandor.’ She anxiously tore through her intoxicated iHOP demeanor, and then Sandor’s fit of silence in the city, and then the Tormund mishap, and then she was going to tell her mom about his virginity confession but decided against it because she didn’t think it was her secret to tell, and finally the events of the previous night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It made Sansa mildly uncomfortable to bring up her overtly blunt behavior with both the waitress at iHOP and Tormund, but it was <em>nothing</em> compared to her confessions from her conversations with Sandor in his apartment. She felt her face get hot, and it didn’t help that her mother was giving her the most wide-eyed, judgmental expression. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said <em>what?</em> Sansa why would you—“ Catelyn covered her mouth idly with her palm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” Sansa whined, her eyes stinging. “It wasn’t what I meant to say at all. It was because he... He said—“ she put her hand out, “never mind. Ugh, it was horrible. I don’t even want to think about it.” She hugged herself and took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you brought up <em>Joffrey</em>, too?” At this point she wasn’t even trying to hide her disappointment, which didn’t exactly encourage the tears not to fall. “Okay, I’m sorry,” her mom said, reaching to touch her hand. “Of course you didn’t have any bad intentions, but you know you shouldn’t be comparing boyfriends, Sansa. Least of all directly <em>to</em> your current boyfriend.” She tried to give Sansa a warm smile but it didn’t help all that much. “Besides, being ‘better than Joffrey in every way’ isn’t setting the bar very high, and if that’s the nicest thing you can say about Sandor then you should reconsider your relationship with him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s heart sank; she hadn’t even thought of that. Saying that Sandor was better than Joffrey wasn’t a very high compliment at all. “It’s not,” she said. “It’s not the nicest thing I can say about him. He’s thoughtful, and patient, and forgiving, and dependable, and— I just... thought that—“ Sansa sighed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sansa, I’m not sure what more to tell you. You have to apologize.” Catelyn glanced at a notification that popped up on her work phone. Assumably the five minutes had come and gone. Her fingers hit touchscreen keyboard quickly and then sent the message off with a <em>whoosh</em>, and then she was looking at Sansa with a firm expression. “Have you talked to him since you left?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she said mournfully, “only to let him know that I got home. I don’t want to see him,” Sansa complained. “I’ve been trying to apologize for being so self-centered when I know that he’s going through a lot— That’s why I apologized <em>yesterday</em>. But obviously it didn’t go very well. I mean, he seemed normal, though normal isn’t necessarily <em>good</em> for him,” she contemplated out loud before shaking her head tiredly. “I really don’t want to talk to him.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well he’s certainly not going to feel better about himself if you avoid and ignore him. Just tell him that you’re sorry, and try to be more mindful of what you say. You have a tendency to... ramble.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thought of seeing Sandor’s face anytime soon made her cringe shamefully. He was perfectly affectionate with her before she left— he didn’t skimp on the hugs and kisses— so Sansa knew rationally that he couldn’t have been <em>that</em> angry with her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though truthfully she thought that he should be more upset with than he apparently was. In her attempts to be understanding and supportive of him, she went ahead and stomped all over his insecurities, and all under the pretense of an ‘apology.’ And he never seemed to care, which was very hard for her to believe since she was so plainly offensive.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa could hear her mother talking to her but she was too worried entertaining the possibility that Sandor was pretending to be okay, but actually secretly upset with her. It made sense, she thought, a lot more sense than him just <em>not</em> <em>caring</em> about such a low blow on her part, as accidental or miscommunicated as it might have been. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa heard her mom going on about about how <em>relationships aren’t always easy</em>, and <em>everyone says things they regret</em>, but all she could think about was Sandor, and that she probably <em>should</em> call him to talk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And if you say he’s so insecure about his looks, then you really need to be more wary of talking about them in the future,” Catelyn said, looking intently at Sansa as she twisted a pen cap between her thumb and forefinger. “And you really do have to start paying more attention to what you say in general, Sansa,” she lectured, and wove back to the beginning of the conversation, regarding how Sansa spoke to Tormund and the waitress. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed. <em>Case and point</em>, she thought, wishing she’d been more mindful about what she confessed in <em>that</em> conversation. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sat still for a while, staring very blankly at the texture of the cream wall and wondering whether or not Sandor hated her even as her mom told her to stop overthinking. After some grueling moments during which her limbs felt like lead, she stood up abruptly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Thanks, mom,” Sansa mumbled. They hugged and kissed briefly and she fled back to her room, hugging herself in the same manner as when she entered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s bedroom was empty-feeling and cold, and the bedspread reeked of what he now identified as <em>Winter Berry</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wanted that blue comforter that they’d gotten dirty on the rooftop, but settled for the fleece instead. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite warning her half a dozen times that the building had a strike for being below legal hygiene standards and that the landlord didn’t give a flying fuck about it, Sansa screamed when she saw a cockroach run across the concrete. And then of course she couldn’t sit still, and they had to go back downstairs. Frankly Sandor didn’t mind vacating, because a short while after her second monologue of the evening, the stoners from the first floor came out and ruined their stargazing discussion. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she’d left, she definitely seemed to rush out. Sandor had asked her pretty directly if something was wrong and she’d pretty directly said <em>no</em>, though he was still very skeptical. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The morning began with Sansa insisting on having crepes for breakfast (she was apparently ‘really feeling her French vibes’ these past twenty four hours). Only, crepes seemed like a lot of work for nine o’clock in the morning, so Sandor tried to pull the old ‘I don’t have [ingredient]’ only before he could even finish the thought he’d been informed that she’d actually covered all the ingredients when they shopped yesterday. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So that settled it: crepes, which neither of them had ever made before— <em>But it was okay!</em> according to Sansa, because Ned allegedly makes crepes every Christmas, and therefore this skill belongs to her as well through <em>osmosis</em>. <em>Yay!</em> Sandor thought agitatedly, exhausted because she’d kept him awake until three in the morning so that they could discuss just about everything under the sun, though it wasn’t so bad, he knew, because he liked listening to her talk and she cuddled him the whole time. (The only <em>real</em> bad part was that she had four alarms that went off before eight-thirty, and then she made him get up that early on a <em>Sunday</em>.)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor had dragged a chair over to the countertop and poked his head up to watch her whisk the ingredients together. He’d been pleased that she’d wanted to do the whisking because he was really tired and wanted to do absolutely nothing for a few minutes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And after all of Sansa’s whisking, and after she’d diced the strawberries and set aside some Nutella for warming up, the crepe making skills that she assumed she would’ve inherited from watching her dad for several years turned out to not be so inheritable. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither of them could get an even relatively nice looking crepe. All of them either got stuck to the pan, burned, broke apart, or came out too thick. It was all very disappointing for Sansa. She tried to call her dad but he didn’t answer the phone because, as she put it, ‘he’s probably sleeping.’ <em>Lucky him</em>, Sandor thought, and then they took their crepe scraps, spread microwaved Nutella overtop and threw on some strawberries. The diced strawberries kind of looked like salsa, and upon this realization Sansa claimed their dish to be like a crepe fajita, and then proceeded to call it a ‘crepe-jita.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite the fact that Sandor would’ve definitely preferred spending three more hours asleep, he thought that their torn, floppy, slightly burnt and over-thick crepe-jitas were pretty good. A lot better than the ratatouille and definitely lower maintenance. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d thought that the two of them had a relatively fun morning but then Sansa got awkward and left pretty immediately. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor couldn’t remember anything had gone wrong between them that would make her want to leave so fast. He <em>did</em> throw a strawberry slice down her shirt, but she only laughed about it... and he <em>did</em> use four of the crepe scraps while she only got two, which had been a little awkward because of Sansa’s massive elephant appetite— but she didn’t seem annoyed enough to leave as quickly as she did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor made her take their leftovers when she went home, partially because he knew that she really really wanted to take the ratatouille home, and also because there was no way he was going to eat the rest of it when there was perfectly good instant ramen in the cabinet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Speaking of ramen</em>. Sandor got up and went to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was also a bit unusual for Sansa not to have called him by now. They had just seen each other this morning, but he’d very much gotten accustomed to her sweet goodnight calls. There’d been a text hours ago that she’d gotten home safely, and then a chain of gifs and gooey hearts and kisses. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But usually she called as well, and now he was starting to wonder whether or not he’d done something wrong. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor grabbed a ceramic bowl out of the cabinet and filled it with water.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He decided he would call her once he got settled in his bedroom again. Sandor already missed the sound of her voice and he didn’t feel like waiting. And if he’d done something to make her upset, he wanted to know about it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cellophane package tore open easily and he emptied the block of noodles into lukewarm water, lazily stirred in the seasoning packet, and put it in the microwave. He was listening to the droll humming of the overpriced microwave he’d needed to buy to replace the old one when the buzzer rang. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The buzzer for <em>his</em> apartment. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annoyed, Sandor pressed the <em>Add 30 Seconds</em> button twice, shoved his feet half-assedly through the holes of his sneakers and started out of his flat. The only times his buzzer ever rang were when the other residents of the building got locked out, and Sandor got stuck getting the door because everyone knew he was always home. There were buttons in each of the apartments so that visitors could be let in with ease, but unfortunately Sandor’s button had been broken since he moved in. <em>Best landlord ever</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The steps creaked awkwardly under his shoes and he was prepared to grumble at whoever was on the other side of the door, but when it opened... Sansa was there. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor blinked. His first thought was that now at least he wouldn’t have to worry about calling her, since she was already here. And his second thought was a contemplation of whether or not something must’ve been <em>really really</em> wrong for her to just show up unannounced. And his third thought was that... she was here. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa mumbled something of a ‘hi’ and bit her lip. She had her bag slung over her shoulders, an ugly yellow bubble envelope in her hands, and she looked more than a little anxious. Sandor murmured a greeting back and opened the door wider for her entry, though she didn’t move to come in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was starting to feel an ache in his chest, which wasn’t so lovely on top of a pressing craving for the plasticky sodium-overloaded factory noodles currently waiting idly in the microwave. There was something in the way that she was looking at her ugly envelope package that made his stomach feel even emptier. She was trying not to look at <em>him</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?” Sandor asked, a bit more aggressively defensive than he’d meant to as a result of his nerves. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa took her eyes off of the yellow rectangle bubble for a second to look at him, and then she made a quick shake of her head as to dismiss her previously evident melancholy. “Yeah,” she said gently, “kind of. I sort of came to... apologize.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor blinked again and shoved his hands into his pockets. “<em>What?</em>” He tried to remember something that she’d done recently that might’ve been worthy of an apology but since he’d been so focused on what <em>he</em> might’ve done wrong, he drew a blank. Besides, she’d apologized <em>twice</em> yesterday out of absolutely nowhere. It was starting to feel like deja vu. Perhaps she’d done something terrible that he didn’t know about, Sandor considered idly. He leaned slightly out of the door frame, “What are you talking about?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa gulped, and then she tilted her head at him. It appeared he was supposed to know what he supposedly deserved an apology for. Maybe that this was the third unwarranted apology in thirty six hours? If she kept it up at this rate, he could expect one tomorrow as well. Her fingers twisted around the corners of the thin yellow package and she looked at his face for an uncomfortably long time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After all those pep talks Sansa gave him, Sandor thought he should be immune to the discomfort of her eyes on his face but obviously that wasn’t the case. He wondered insecurely how he looked between the bright moon and the shitty hall lighting, and he was pleased when she dropped her eyes again and stopped studying him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yesterday,” Sansa said with some discomfort of her own, “I said some really stupid things.” Her eyes trailed up to his face again. “About you, I mean. And I’ve been putting you through a lot, I think, with Tormund, and comparing you to my exes, and being all over you, and I’m just really sorry. I’ll try not to do those things anymore.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor wrinkled all the facial muscles that he was allowed at her. He understood her references to Tormund and her ex, and obviously he’d been present for their intimate interactions (though he definitely didn’t need an apology for that), but her saying really stupid things? He tried to recall specific instances. There were a few inquiries in her questionnaire that made Sandor uncomfortable to the point of expression, but that wasn’t malicious of her and he wasn’t awaiting an apology. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then on the couch she’d had that drabble about attractive but ‘rotten’ exes— though if the stalker guy’s imprisonment was any indication (J-something... Jeffrey?) then ‘rotten’ was an accurate description. That conversation made him a bit uncomfortable, and then she’d made that crack about his appearance. Sandor wondered if that was what she was apologizing for, only honestly he thought she already <em>had</em> apologized.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he could even speak, Sansa started in detail. Apparently she <em>was</em> feeling particularly bad about that conversation, and about comparing him to her ex boyfriends (Joffrey!— Sandor remembered, not Jeffrey). And then there was another apology about being a ‘crazy defensive girlfriend’ regarding Tormund (which seemed to come out of absolutely nowhere), and then a ridiculous apology about all of her apologies (go figure). She listed off compliments about him being thoughtful and dependable and caring and finally, Sansa wanted to reiterate (again) that she <em>did</em> think he was attractive, and she hadn’t meant to make him think anything otherwise. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor had been really entranced in his contemplation of what could possibly be inside the envelope and when he finally looked back up, it seemed as though she was about to cry. His heart sank, and he was wondered briefly about the status of the ramen in the microwave before stepping forward onto the concrete steps and letting the door fall shut. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she quickly thrust her yellow rectangle bubble envelope at his chest, with the most humbly pained and vulnerable expression he’d ever seen on her. Sandor furrowed his brow at her and searched for a clue on her face as to whether or not he was actually supposed to open it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t make any motion when he lifted the folded tab, so Sandor reached in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a thick piece of paper inside. One piece of paper that she’d bothered to put in a package. As he pulled it out, he could foggily see Sansa cringing, and then hugging herself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took a moment to register that he was looking at a drawing of himself, with her pretty cursive signature at the bottom. She’d obviously put days of work into it, and the details showed it. Of course, Sandor fixated specifically on the detail she’d put into his burn scarring. He wondered briefly if it was from photo reference, and if so, where exactly she’d gotten the picture. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The more interesting aspect of her drawing was that she’d obviously tried to make him look happy, or as close to happy as he could look naturally. There was a very slight smile on the side of his face that was capable of smiling, but the artillery was small compared to that of his sad eyes. Very dramatic, Sandor thought, like a gothic Mona Lisa remake. He felt himself swallow involuntarily. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There were several things that he wanted to say regarding her remorse, and regarding her negative self-evaluations, but he couldn’t seem to say anything for a moment. The drawing in his hand was completely numbing. It took a moment to regather his senses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa,” Sandor said plainly, shaking his head and waving the drawing, “This is really good. I’m not upset with you. Do you want to come inside?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s glazed eyes remained, though when he pushed the door open, she followed him in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It would’ve been naive to assume that the ramen was still hot, so Sandor clicked the <em>Add 30 seconds</em> button twice and turned to kick his shoes back in the general direction of the door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa had sat down at the dining table with her bag in her lap and her drawing in front of her. She declined Sandor’s offer of ramen. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He brought his hot bowl over and sat across from her. The ramen was nearly scalding on his tongue, and it was salty and reeked of artificiality. Not nearly as good as the idea seemed half an hour ago, and frankly he felt uncomfortable eating when she wasn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s eyes were melancholily locked on drawing-Sandor’s eyes, and real-Sandor’s eyes were locked on hers. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought about when she coaxed him into the city, and how miserable and disgusting and unappealing he’d been feeling that day after his coworker’s comments. And he thought about her hands in his, and her promise to stay where he needed her. He thought about how much pain he’d been in, and his heart <em>ached</em> seeing a similar woe in her features. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor reached across the table to pull her hand into his. “Sansa, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he said, “I promise.” The acrylic nails that usually glued to her manicured fingers were gone, and in their place, bitten, scabby nails. He smoothed them over gently with his fingertips, hurting with her. “I don’t care if Tormund thinks you’re tougher than me, or if you never want to go back to that iHOP again, or that you talked about your exes and accidentally said something ‘mean’ about me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hand twitched in his and she looked up unhappily. “But it wasn’t true, I just—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” said Sandor, confident as he looked at the drawing that her feelings were really what she said they were. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wrinkled her face at him. “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well obviously it didn’t feel very good to hear,” he chuckled gently, feeling bad when her eyes guiltily darkened, “but you tell me all the time what you think of me, Sansa. I’m not upset that you made a mistake. You don’t have to be perfect <em>all</em> the time.” He traced the inside of her palm, “And also this drawing is dated back two months ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes shot wide open, “<em>What?</em>” and she jerked her hand away to pull the thick piece of paper closer. Sandor laughed as her cheeks went red and she smiled abashedly. The date was right next to her signature. “Oh my god.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was a little embarrassed, but at least she was talking. And once her mood was properly lifted, Sansa claimed that she was hungry. Sandor didn’t have any fancy French cuisine to offer her, but she compromised on ramen for ‘nostalgia purposes.’ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She said that the noodles were grossly artificial after the second bite and then presumed to eat the rest of the bowl. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor grabbed the drawing off the table and scoped out some wall space for a good place to put it. <em>Oh yeah, anywhere</em>. The walls were plain except for drywall patches and that one print he’d bought for fifteen dollars the first time Sansa was supposed to come over. He wished that he had some tacks to piss off the landlord with, but honestly the landlord probably wouldn’t care. Either way, he only had tape. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you staying the night again?” Sandor asked, catching a glance at the microwave clock as he dug through the junk drawer for his roll of tape. “And do you think it’s weird to hang a portrait of me in my own apartment?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“People do that all the time,” Sansa said nonchalantly, “I think. I’d love to stay, but I have work tomorrow and I didn’t bring any clothes, or a toothbrush, or a hairbrush— but you probably have a hairbrush.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor turned to roll his eyes at her as he ripped off four pieces of tape. “I have clothes, but—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Too ratty and old,” said Sansa sarcastically. He could hear the faucet running as she washed her bowl, and there was a heap of long red hair that concealed her back from him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor scoffed. “I was going to say that they’re too <em>big for you</em>, actually, but now I revoke my offer.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The water stopped running after a moment and she came over to his side, watching as he tried to level the piece of paper. “I suppose I can rewear these jeans, but not the shirt. If you have a t-shirt from <em>this century</em> that I can wear to work tomorrow, <em>maybe</em> I’ll spend the night.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Forget it,” Sandor laughed. “My clothes are in fine condition,” he insisted as he pressed a little square of tape onto one of the corners. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa reached out to touch the fabric that covered his stomach and the unexpected sensation made his insides warm. “Sandor, this looks— <em>and</em> <em>feels</em>— like a shirt my dad would’ve owned twenty-five years ago,” she was laughing almost breathlessly by the middle of her statement. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well obviously your guilt about having insulted me was <em>so five minutes ago</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wrapped her arms around his aged shirt, leaned up onto her tippy-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’d love to stay the night again. But I <em>will</em> need to borrow a shirt. And a toothbrush. And maybe some pajamas?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor hugged her back. “What exactly did you bring in that bag if nothing to stay over?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I wasn’t <em>planning</em> to sleep over.” Sansa looked thoughtfully, “I brought my book, and my laptop. And I brought my watercolor set— and my camera,” Sandor rolled his eyes at the mention of her camera, “I brought chapstick, for once, and a water bottle, and obviously my drawing.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luckily Sansa had bought a new toothbrush in her attempts to prepare Sandor’s apartment for the eminent apocalypse, though suppose an apocalypse were to occur, this godforsaken building would be the last place Sandor would want to spend it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He dug the new toothbrush out the drawer for her and they went to see about clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Naturally Sansa couldn’t make a decision without seeing absolutely everything in Sandor’s shirt drawer. He suggested a couple that were plainly colored, but she was more interested in his array of graphic t-shirts. And for good measure she even wanted to try on a pair of his jeans.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pranced off to the bathroom and came back a few minutes later with a black shirt tucked into very baggy, very <em>long</em> jeans bound tightly around her waist. The pants weren’t designed for her figure in any way shape or form, but she was laughing giddily at her reflection as she studied herself from different angles. Fortunately she didn’t have to duck down very far to see her facial reflection beneath the acrylic blackout on the mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know that that’s a <em>Venom</em> shirt, right? Do you—“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa glared unhappily at him, “You need to stop assuming that I don’t like the same things as you. Of course I know who <em>Venom</em> is, Sandor.” She lazily modeled her hair into a few easy styles to see which went best, “And also you’re a nerd. Do you have any shoes?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, Sansa, <em>no</em>. This isn’t <em>Dress Up Like Sandor</em> day.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, <em>tomorrow</em> is <em>Dress Up Like Sandor</em> day,” she corrected. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor gestured to the floor of his closet where all the shoes were hiding. He pushed aside some of the shirts she’d spread out on his bed and laid down on his side, watching idly as she came through with her different outfits. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shoes were realms too big for her, but they made her feet look oversized in a very charming manner. That said, Sandor couldn’t remember what year he’d gotten those sneakers from and was relieved when she said that they’d be too uncomfortable to wear all day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">He was still getting used to the fact that she was actually <em>here</em> right now. Their time together was always planned into excruciating detail (because Sansa <em>loved </em>planning out their dates) and for her to just show up was so odd, and comfortable, and it made his head dreamily cloudy. Three nights in a row, this would make it, the most consecutive time that they’d ever would’ve spent together and it felt completely normal. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was settled on the Venom t-shirt, but undecided about whether or not she wanted to wear her jeans or his. With that remaining question she said she was tired of trying on clothes and inquired about what she might be able to sleep in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. He was accustomed to Sansa’s preferred sleepwear (baggy shirt, short shorts) and had nothing that was her size to cut it. “I have the pajamas that you got me, you could wear those if you want to? And pull the strings really tight, I guess.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An impish smile touched Sansa’s lips and she crossed her arms nervously. “Well I was wondering,” she started to speak so gently that Sandor had to perk his ear to understand her all the way, “can I wear your boxers?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor glared at her and sat up. He was <em>not</em> expecting that. “<em>What?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa gulped. “I just think it’s kind of cute. And it’s too hot for those flannel pajamas anyway. But if you think it’s weird, I totally get it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at her for a while. Her fashion show had tired him out a bit, and it was taking a bit longer to register everything that she was saying. He got up, walked to his dresser, pulled a pair of boxers out of the top drawer and threw them over at her. “Go for it,” he said with a chuckle, a little nervous and taken aback by her request. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was completely flushed as she disappeared out of the room with her sleepwear.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoved the clothes she tried on back into the respective drawers and left a spot on the dresser for her maybe-jeans and shirt of choice. She’d said that it was too hot for long pants but Sandor knew it wasn’t going to be too hot for a blanket nest, so he left the room briefly to retrieve the couple of throws he had on the couch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He changed out of his jeans, and into a more comfortable shirt. Sansa let him into the bathroom after she’d gotten ‘decent’ so they could get ready for bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he’d thought seeing her wear his jeans was odd, this was much more obscure. The humongous shirt that she wore hung long to her thighs, and beneath that her legs looked small and unfitting under the boxers. Aside from the big bun on top of her head, she looked smaller in general. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s blush returned when she noticed him staring at her, but frankly it was hard to look away. The sight of her was undeniably adorable. Aside from that, one look in the mirror at their figures made him aware that they were wearing virtually the same thing and she looked a lot more charming. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look like... <em>me</em>,” Sandor said. “You look better than me, actually, in my own clothes— and I’m very offended.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa laughed and looked at herself in the mirror once again. “I don’t look better than you, <em>trust</em> me. But as far as me wearing your clothes, you should probably get used to it. They’re a lot comfier than mine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile there was a tall pile of clothing discarded in front of the bathtub, both her clothes and the clothes of his that she’d tried on. And she’d brought her bag into the bathroom, evidently, and all but disassembled it; the hairbrush was out, and her ‘emergency makeup bag,’ along with her book and even the watercolor set. <em>Winter Berry</em> was on the countertop as well, in a tall cylindrical bottle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa looked at him looking at her bag and gasped, and then announced that this was the ‘perfect photo op!’ and that they needed to take a picture immediately. Initially Sandor was going to refuse, but honestly... he didn’t want to.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">For once, he wanted a photo of himself, of the two of them, because he was happy, and he wanted to have a visual reminder of this moment. He was going to remember with or without a photo, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? If he didn’t like the photo, he could always just... destroy it. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa backed up against him and turned the Polaroid camera around to face them. He awkwardly made an attempt to smile as she drew her finger up to the button, but after a moment she lowered the camera and turned to look at him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“I’m sorry, I forgot. We don’t have to take a picture. I’m going to remember this either way,” she laughed and her eyes twinkled.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sandor shook his head. “I want a picture.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa tilted her head at him, “Are you sure? I know that you don’t like them and we really—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">”I do,” he said firmly, “I do want one, but if you don’t hurry up I might change my mind,” Sandor teased.  </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa turned and leaned her back against him. She pointed the camera at them and counted off, Sandor smiled as comfortably as he could, a <em>snap!</em> happened and then the little picture started emerging from the camera. She set the picture on the counter off and counted off again, which surprised Sandor but he smiled again anyway as comfortably as he could and the second picture started to eject. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">While Sansa was busy putting the camera back in her bag, Sandor picked up the first picture off the countertop and watched, fascinated, as the shapes and their colors started to spread. He hadn’t wanted to see any of the other pictures she took of them, so he didn’t look at them. But this was <em>interesting</em>. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">She grabbed the second picture and looked at it for a moment, still developing, before placing it against her emergency makeup bag. “We’ll both have one,” she said, smiling at him, and he was thinking that it was a good arrangement when he smiled <em>back</em>. <em>Those are annoyingly contagious</em>, Sandor thought, and stubbornly hoped he didn’t start doing it very often. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa did want to make a blanket nest after all, and Sandor leaned against the wall and complained idly about the loud noises coming from upstairs at all hours while she empathized with his position. He placed his fully developed picture on the nightstand.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When at last the bed was finally up to her standards, Sandor went to make sure his central door was locked, shut off all the lights and blindly found the bed again. This blanket nest was different than the ‘MVB’ (<em>most valuable blanket-nest)</em>, and therefore he needed a little guidance regarding which blankets he was supposed to be under and which he was supposed to be on top of for prime cuddling experience. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wove her limbs around him with minimal effort. She sighed when he wrapped an arm around her. Sandor laid his head beside hers and before a whole minute had gone by his body relaxed and he was relievedly met with the usual happy cuddling hormones he’d become so familiar with. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shirt that Sansa was wearing was soft and light under his fingers, and her legs were smooth against his. “You were right,” said Sandor, “my clothes are more comfortable than yours.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face moved an inch forward and she kissed him gently. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That drawing was dated <em>months</em> ago,” Sandor pointed out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa tilted her head toward her chest to yawn. “You sound really surprised,” she murmured tiredly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>am</em> surprised.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well you can’t be that astounded that I had a thing for you. I <em>did</em> ask you out. And then immediately kissed you— I mean, surely that was telling.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it <em>was</em> surprising, for some reason, to think about her thinking about him before their dating. It made him feel a lot more comfortable though, even if it should’ve been obvious for weeks now that her going out with him meant that she did, in fact, <em>like</em> him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">“I was a little crazy about you, actually,” Sansa admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “To be honest, I <em>asked</em> my mom to tell you that I was a hairdresser, and where I worked, because I wanted a chance to hang out with you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">”<em>What?</em> <em>You</em> wanted to hang out with <em>me</em>? I spent <em>weeks</em> trying to come up with an excuse for us to be in the same room, and you’re saying that the <em>whole</em> time you wanted to hang out with me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">”That’s what I’m telling you,” Sansa lulled. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sandor spent what felt like a very long time thinking about that.</span> <span class="s1"> “And that’s when you—“</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”That’s when I drew the picture of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded, and after another moment of existential questioning he kissed her cheek. He wondered vaguely again where she’d gotten the reference picture, because she certainly couldn’t have drawn that from reference so early on... but there was something a bit more pressing that he wanted to address. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad that you came over, Sansa, and I won’t be upset if you randomly appear in the future. Do you want a key?— My landlord isn’t the most efficient but I could probably get another key if I hassle him enough. Also he’s not very big. Anyway I can get you a key, if you plan on randomly showing up more often.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s laugh was weak with fatigue. “I’d love for you to get me a key, but definitely don’t do something terrible and/or illegal to your landlord.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Deal,” said Sandor, and he slipped his arm under hers to draw closer. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Annual Stark Camping Trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Camping.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Camping</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared at his ratty backpack, poorly illuminated under his shitty bedroom lighting. Sansa had sent him a list of stuff that he should bring: a couple of outfits (“including a bathing suit!”), travel-sized toiletries, ‘something to do for fun :)’, and the pj set that she bought him. He could only wonder why this specific set of pajamas was on her ‘essentials’ list, though his most probable guess was related to social media aesthetics. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a small list, but apparently Ned and Cat were going to bring a sleeping bag for him, and he’d stay in one of their tents, and they were going to bring all the food. There wasn’t much for him to complain about... but also, <em>camping. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ‘Annual Stark Camping Trip’ was going to be a two-and-a-half hour trek, and Sansa couldn’t tell him anything about it because they went somewhere different every year, and she herself didn’t have a clue. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Additionally, Sandor had never been camping before. Like, there were a few repetitive events at his elementary school where his whole class would sleep in the cafeteria for movie nights, and some teachers would stay, too, and it only cost one dollar so his dad had usually let him go. Really, the only attraction was that it was a chance to be away from home. Anyway, that was hardly ‘camping’, so he wasn’t sure of what exactly he was in for. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa still had his clothes, he was reminded as he glanced at his dresser. She’d decided to wear the jeans as well as the shirt, along with one of his belts and <em>even</em> his putrid sneakers. Sandor couldn’t figure out why she’d decided to wear the shoes, seeing as they were enormous on her feet and in very questionable condition compared to the quality of hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t really share that sentiment. In fact she said that they ‘completed the look’— the look being <em>Sandor</em>. Sandor, for <em>Dress Up Like Sandor Day</em>. It didn’t seem like a good enough reason for her to be slightly uncomfortable all day, but he let her take the shoes anyway because she wanted to and he didn’t need them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was also reminded that he needed to get her a key. He remembered bitterly how dumb he’d sounded babbling at her about getting her a key, and begging her to come over more often, but he still thought it was easier than asking her to live with him. Sansa didn’t seem to mind very much, but he couldn’t help cringing over it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">He’d left an agitated voicemail in his landlord’s inbox earlier in the afternoon about getting another key, after two days of him not returning Sandor’s first call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nearly a week had passed and he still hadn’t dismantled her blanket-nest-away-from-home, nor had he even moved the photograph of their faces from the nightstand. All of the dishes were clean, all of his laundry was done, even the <em>clutter</em> was put away, all of his fucking clutter— but the thought of taking the extra blankets off of his bed made her seem impossibly far away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was very ridiculous, because it was like his subconscious thought she was dead or something, or that he’d never see her again. Like if he took the blankets that she’d arranged off of his bed, it would just erase her place in his apartment. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it wasn’t like that. Having the extra blankets was starting to make him sleep better. Forget the fact that Sansa had arranged this specific nest, or that the blankets smelled like <em>Winter</em> fucking <em>Berry</em>, or that the whole ‘blanket nest’ part of his life was entirely associated with her— Really, thoughts of Sansa aside, sleeping swaddled up with blankets around his shoulders, and arms, and the side of his head, and his feet... it just made him feel real cozy and secure. And it would probably be so much more fantastic if he had quality air-conditioning, because overheating was a thing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And also, Sansa had arranged it for him, and tailored it to his bed. And the whole other side smelled like her. <em>And</em> being in a cuddle simulator, and thinking of cuddling with her was almost good enough when he couldn’t actually cuddle with her. <em>Fuck</em>, he thought helplessly, his interest in blanket nests was entirely, exclusively about Sansa. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bed looked pretty good right now, with its thick pile of blankets, and the pillows that had memorized the shape of Sandor’s head. He wanted to lay down and think about cuddling. If only he didn’t have to do a bunch of fucking packing right now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor pulled up the text from Sansa. A couple of outfits. He grabbed some socks, some underwear, two shirts, two pairs of pants. The hard part was probably going to be making room in his bag to fit everything that he had to bring. That said, Sandor did some novice rolling of the shirts, placing them in along the way, though when he got to the pants he was already frustrated and lazily shoved them to the bottom of the bag, crumpled.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Including a bathing suit!” he read again and groaned. There was exactly one swimsuit in his underwear drawer and it hadn’t been used or washed since he’d moved into this apartment. They probably could’ve used a wash, but he didn’t feel like doing laundry so he just threw them into his bag. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Travel-sized toiletries. <em>Travel-sized</em>, Sandor thought, wondering if that was a necessary adjective. He didn’t have anything that was specifically travel sized, and instead just threw in the couple of things he knew he would need. Deodorant, but probably not shampoo and conditioner. Toothbrush and toothpaste, check. Hairbrush. <em>Fuck having long hair</em>, he thought unhappily, and to hell with Sansa for liking his long hair enough to persuade him into keeping it. <em>Stupid fucking retainer cleaner</em>, he groaned as he shoved the wide tablets back into the box on his counter. It was going to be three days; if his teeth could shift <em>that </em>much in just three days, they could fuck off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">That seemed like it was going to be good enough. Anything else he needed he’d hopefully be able to get from Sansa.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Something to do for fun</em>, he thought. <em>For fun?</em> The whole point of the trip was supposed to be ‘fun’ wasn’t it? Sandor didn’t understand why he needed something additional to bring, but nevertheless he would have his headphones and his little brown sketchbook that Sansa liked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Truthfully Sandor didn’t anticipate spending very much time alone. Sansa never gave him any alone time when they were together at her house, and he didn’t think a trip with her family should be any different. If there happened to be alone time this weekend, he would be perfectly content with zoning out to some music. And also, knowing Sansa, she’d probably be bringing a thousand ‘fun’ things to do in her adventure ‘pack. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pj set, easy. It wasn’t exactly in its prime cleanliness but it would have to do, because Sandor didn’t have time to do a whole load of laundry.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa pajama-napped his t-shirt and boxers too, which wouldn’t have been so sucky only he’d given her his favorite boxers and he wanted them back. He took a moment to send her a reminder text to bring them on the trip tomorrow. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor zipped up the tattered bag and dropped it by the foot of his bed. His limbs were sore from lifting, but at least he knew he’d sleep well. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or, he <em>should’ve</em> slept well. Exercising before bed had been a really good idea in the past because of his insomnia, and usually it really raised the quality and consistency of his sleep— only his post-exercise aches weren’t strong enough to overpower the pre-camping-trip anxiety. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He’d gotten the usual endorphin rush, only he couldn’t stop thinking about what it was going to be like spending a whole weekend with Sansa’s family. </span> <span class="s1">Never mind the fact that Sandor still had no interest seeing Sansa’s mom since the last time she’d seen him had been when he was covered in his own bodily filth in their home. And obviously Ned would know about that too, but Sandor had already seen Ned several times during work for ‘check-ins’, which were presumably to make sure that Sandor and his team kept their fists to themselves. It was hard to spend time with her family in general and not be disgusted with himself, and most unfortunately, sometimes he still felt that way around Sansa, too. </span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor’s bare feet stuck to the floor lightly as he walked over to his desk. He stuck out his hand blindly and felt around until he found his lamp and flicked it on. Before him illuminated a workspace crowded with materials, and he sat down to a spool of wire and a pair of needle nose pliers, making use of his time while he waited to be tired. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were about forty five minutes into the car ride when Sandor started to get uncomfortable. His arm was falling asleep but he couldn’t move it because Sansa was laying on top of him, he was hungry, and he really had to pee. He wished the campground would just appear already. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’d been too many Starks &amp; friends for everyone to ride in the same car, so Catelyn and Ned drove respectively. Cat drove Arya, Bran, Rickon, and their friends, while Ned drove Sandor, Sansa, Jon, Robb, and Robb’s girlfriend Jeyne. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The actual car ride wasn’t so bad. Sansa insisted on having a physical connection to Sandor for the whole duration, which was slightly awkward because Ned could definitely see them in his peripheral vision, but not awkward enough for Sandor to make a big deal out of it (or to say no, which was laughable).</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She mostly just wanted to hold hands or link arms, which were pretty harmless and completely welcomed. Occasionally she’d run her fingers through Sandor’s hair or touch his thigh, which made him a little more uncomfortable in Ned’s presence. The worst, however, was when, an hour and a half into the car ride, Sansa decided she was tired of sitting up and sprawled across the row. She leaned her legs up against the mountain of backpacks on the other side seat and used Sandor’s lap as a pillow. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It would’ve been nothing if they were alone, in fact it was really comfortable. Her hair was down, and it was sprawled all over Sandor’s legs, and he wanted to play with it because it was fun to play with and he loved it when she played with his, but he didn’t dare move. Apparently she didn’t think twice about it, but Sandor just felt too uncomfortable being any sort of intimate with her while her dad was right there. Sharing her bed while her parents were across the hall was one thing, where Ned and Sandor didn’t have to see or hear or talk to each other but currently he was about two and a half feet away— way too close for comfort. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That said, as Sandor was trying adamantly not to move or breathe in an overly affectionate manner, Ned didn’t even seem to be paying him a shred of attention. He was too busy singing along to all eighteen minutes of <em>Alice’s</em> stupid fucking <em>Restaurant</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Between the droll vibrations from the car, Sansa’s presence boosting his serotonin, and the several hours of sleep he’d lost the previous night, Sandor really wanted to sleep. He glanced back briefly to see that Robb had his arm around Jeyne, and neither of them looked even slightly uncomfortable. And Ned seemed pretty uninterested in anything except for the road and his decades songs. Sandor looked down at Sansa and he was pretty sure she was asleep, or at least pretty good at looking like she was asleep. He wound his fingers through hers, leaned his head against the glass behind him and watched out the opposite window until his eyelids were heavy enough to shut.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He woke up again sometime later, and Sansa had moved a little further into his lap. The next time he woke up, she’d completely switched around and her legs were across his lap instead, with her head leaning against the backpack mountain. And the next time Sandor woke up, he woke up the feeling of Sansa repeatedly patting his upper arm; one groggy glance out the window let him know that they’d arrived at the campground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Trees enveloped the dirt path all along as they drove past campsites. A man at the campground entry booth gave Ned the number of their sites but he was really quiet and Sandor couldn’t hear him. It was probably number eighty seven, seeing as that’s the site that Ned stopped at. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took Sandor a minute to realize that Catelyn’s car was actually parked at the neighboring campsite, but they couldn’t have been here for long because everyone was still inside the vehicle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa, stuck between Sandor and backpack mountain, unbuckled her seatbelt and urged Sandor to get out of the car. Jon was out pretty quickly, and Robb and Jeyne climbed over the seat, and eventually got out and began unloading. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor reached in and grabbed his backpack, then Sansa’s, and then he stood for a moment wondering where exactly he was supposed to be going with them. Jon and Robb were pulling tent bags and other miscellaneous camping supplies out of the trunk. Sansa hadn’t mentioned who’d be sleeping where and... Sandor spun around, because he’d entirely forgotten where she was and planned to ask what they should be doing, only to see Sansa already pitching a tent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He picked up her enormous backpack and then her little canvas bag and stalked over to her. The stake opposite her kept coming out of the ground, and when she saw Sandor coming she asked if he could hold it down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this our tent? I wasn’t sure where we were going to sleep; I wanted to help you set it up,” Sandor said, uncomfortable and a little helpless.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa stood up with a handful of stakes. “This is our tent,” she smiled and pointed across to where Robb and Jon and Jeyne were gathered around a tent of the same size, “that’s their tent,” and then to Ned and a few kids that Sandor didn’t recognize trying to hoist a third, enormous tent, “and that’s for my parents and Arya and Bran and Rickon, and their friends.” Sansa looked for a moment at the collapsed tent at her feet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Originally we were all going to sleep in there,” Sansa pointed to Cat and Ned’s enormous tent, “but Robb really wanted to share a tent with Jeyne, and it took a lot of haggling with my parents, since we’re usually all together, but they agreed eventually because we have so many people this year. And then obviously I wanted to share a tent with you. It worked out because Arya wanted to bring her friends and Bran and Rickon wanted to bring theirs, and we definitely wouldn’t have all fit in one tent.“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She passed along some of her stakes and gave him a facial expression that he hadn’t seen before. For the most part it was just a little smile, but it was different than her super excited smile, and the embarrassed smile she made during tv sex scenes, and the giddy, giggly smile that Sandor was most familiar with— it was different from all of those and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He actually hadn’t ever put up a tent before (because as aforementioned, there’d been no prior camping experience opportunities) but he didn’t tell Sansa that. It was pretty easy to just watch what she was doing and follow along, seeing as mostly the only task was putting the stakes through the tent slots and pushing them into the ground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Surprisingly they even turned out to have pitched the first tent of the three. Sansa credited their excellent teamwork skills. He raised his eyebrows at her sentiment but all it took was one look across the site for Sandor to see how dysfunctional the other “teams” were. Robb wasn’t even trying to build his tent, he was throwing dirt at Jeyne and chasing her around while Jon singlehandedly attempted to embed the stakes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile on the other side of the campsite (across the fire pit that Sandor kept a ways away from) there was quite literally <em>nothing</em> but chaos. There were seven children that Sandor could count and not a single one proved capable of staying still for longer than three seconds. Even worse, they were running around with the metal stakes and using them as play weapons and jumping on the slack tent. Catelyn and Ned were chasing them around for their metal stakes but they weren’t making a lot of progress.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa looked over for a second, looked back to Sandor and decided that they were “actually too busy unpacking to even notice all the commotion going on across the background.” To solidify her alibi, her and Sandor quietly took their bags into the tent and began setting up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They unrolled their sleeping bags and, expectedly, Sansa started unzipping hers all the way in preparation of a grand pallet. Also expectedly, she brought a few extra layers to enhance their sleeping experience. When their sleeping bag nest was made up, there were still children’s battle cries to be heard from about thirty feet away, and Sandor shared Sansa’s sentiment of really not wanting to go out and be helpful, so they laid on top of their sleeping bags and stared up at the tent’s wrinkly roof. The two inches of “mattress” did virtually nothing for Sandor’s sore shoulders, or the rest of his back for that matter. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa curled slightly towards him and threw an arm around his middle. “Did you bring the pajamas?” she asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded. “Did you bring <em>my</em> pajamas?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She went red and averted her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t bring them, did you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did,” said Sansa, “but...” she looked at her enormous backpack, “I don’t really want to give them back just yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sighed. He planned to give her the hard news that he did, in fact, want his favorite pajamas back, but the words just wouldn’t surface. It was difficult to say no to her in general, but also the memorabilia that he had of her in his pajamas reminded him that she was very much irresistible, especially in his clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can hold onto them... for a while. But they’re my favorites, and I will want them back. Wear them tonight, will you?” He’d really really liked the previous weekend when she’d worn his clothes and he wanted her to do it again while they were together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa nodded, “I’ll even give them back you on Sunday on the condition that you sleep without a shirt this whole weekend.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor laughed, baffled. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll wear your pajamas and you’ll sleep shirtless.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I heard you, I’m just wondering what part of this deal benefits me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Sansa began, “for starters, you won’t burn up like you usually do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor interjected, “I only <em>burn up</em> because you make your bed with enough blankets to melt Antarctica—” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s beside the point,” Sansa waved him off. “Second of all, it makes for better cuddling. And, um, did you know that sleeping shirtless has... health benefits?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Sansa said, “it’s um... it raises the quality of your sleep because... you won’t be as hot and, um... it’s... good for your liver.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Good for your liver. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Sansa started again, “I actually don’t think sleeping shirtless affects your liver health—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolled his eyes. “You don’t say.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—But you might be more comfortable because you always overheat. Also I don’t want you to wear a shirt.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How about <em>you</em> don’t wear a shirt,” Sandor bargained. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa gasped. “Of course I’m going to wear a shirt. My family’s right out there,” she pointed, “what if Arya, or one of my little brothers, comes to unzip the tent in the morning? You <em>know</em> that’s something Arya would do. You think I want her to see me without a shirt, sleeping next to you, who also won’t be wearing a shirt?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—“ Sandor stopped. It was kind of hard to argue with that. “Fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s lips tightened; she was obviously trying to hide her satisfaction with what had become a win-win situation for her. “Really?” she asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Sandor nodded. The concept of being half naked in general made him feel nothing, it was solely about being half naked with <em>her</em>, all night for two nights. He knew fully well that he’d be much more comfortable without a shirt (especially with her sleeping conditions) but the thought of that extended exposure was exhilarating, and a little scary.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa leaned closer and wrapped her arms around him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were minutes into a hug-cuddle when Sansa vocalized the realization that there wasn’t as much sound coming from out of the tent, where there’d been seven unique battle cries. Sandor had no desire to leave the tent but they ended up going out anyway, and discovered that Cat and Ned’s tent was pitched and the kids were running around inside it now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fortunately there weren’t any horrible “camping festivities” scheduled for today. <em>Unfortunately</em>, there <em>were</em> festivities scheduled for tomorrow. Namely, a hiking excursion to a waterfall and then swimming at said waterfall. A hike would be fine with only Sansa, and maybe even tolerable with her parents too because he didn’t hate them... but not with her parents and all of her siblings and their friends who’d have front seats to Sandor sweating like an ice cube in July. Swimming might be okay. At least, it would sure as hell be hot enough. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone was kinda just lounging around the two campsites for the afternoon. Ned brought out a fat little Bluetooth speaker to broadcast more of his oldies songs, including Alice’s Restaurant Massacre again (how nice of him!) but he skipped eight minutes in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arya and her two friends wanted to go to the campground’s lake but Catelyn said she didn’t want them going alone, so Robb and Jeyne went with them. Jon stayed behind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor and Sansa migrated to the makeshift camping “kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor couldn’t fathom the extravagance of her family’s camping setup. No less than thousands of dollars must’ve been put into their little collection, meanwhile his mattress was literally picked up off the curb. (If Sansa knew that, she’d probably make him get a new one, which is why she didn’t know that.) Not only had they lugged three tents including the monstrous ten-person tent, but they’d also brought along a whole fucking trunk full (Catelyn’s trunk) of portable kitchen contraptions. Not to mention the fourth tent, a canopy tent to protect their “kitchen” from the rain. They had a camping coffee maker, a camping stove, three big coolers, a fucking camping <em>dish caddy</em> and even a water tank, despite the campground already having provided a spicket. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both picnic tables had disposable checkered tablecloths taped to them, though the little plasticky holes all over the place indicated that they were obviously reused. The actual oven they’d brought with them was nothing but buying new tablecloths was where they drew the line. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And of course, no Stark camping kitchen would be complete with Cat and Ned’s fucking tea station. There was a miniature table set aside for what was <em>obviously</em> a tea station. It was the only table of three that didn’t have a tablecloth, but there was a single stove unit, a kettle, a tea box and honey, and a tray of metal teacups. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor sat down at one of the picnic tables. He could’ve inferred that this makeshift tea station would be a hit with Sansa on his own, but before he had the chance she was putting the wooden tea box in front of him. The tea box looked like it was from two hundred years ago, which was doubtful, though he wouldn’t put it past her family. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor looked up at her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want some?” Sansa asked with an expression that indicated that she wanted some. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She opened the box and he looked inside, across the several different types of tea bags and their perfectly spaced compartments. He didn’t know anything about tea other than that people like Sansa enjoyed raving about its “health benefits” and that earl grey tasted like watery black pepper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ok,” he nodded, and she sat across the table from him, still staring at all twelve choices. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What kind do you want?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shrugged. “Not earl grey, and none of that ‘matcha’ that you drink.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well we have lemon—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa laughed. She jokingly recommended ginger next but Sandor immediately rejected that suggestion as well. The options that she thought he might like were mint, chamomile, wild berry, orange, or cinnamon. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mint,” Sandor picked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa grabbed a lemon tea bag, unsurprisingly, though what <em>was</em> surprising was her picking a second bag of a different flavor. Lemon and wild berry (which only sounded like Winter Berry to Sandor.) She turned around and dropped the bags into two silicone camping mugs, filled up a kettle of water from the tank, and placed it over the small, kerosene stove unit. Then she sat back down across from him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor looked over at the other side of the campsite where Ned and Cat were sitting next to each other in front of their tent as Sansa held his hand on the tabletop. The teacups were right in front of them; her two varying flavor bags inside, and his mint one, slumped in the cups. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you hear those birds?” she asked, pulling his gaze back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did hear them. At first it seemed like just one of them, repeatedly sounding purely because it had working chirp muscles, but after a little distinguishing, Sandor became aware that there were <em>two</em> birds. It sounded like they were talking to each other, and that sort of touched him. They were both fairly high frequency, though the rhythm was almost serene. And when he thought about it, as was the rustling of the wind through the trees, and even the sound of the campground’s brook rushing water. It made him feel funny to enjoy something like that. Obviously Sansa was rubbing off on him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think they’re talking to each other,” she said, tilting her neck to look around despite the canopy’s restrictions. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think so, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kettle whistled after a moment, a sound he did not like, and Sansa rushed over to take the water off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She brought the pot over and poured it into their teacups as the kettle steamed in bursts. It took less than five seconds for the tea bag to expel a translucent, ethereal blue-green. Sansa’s turned a dark orange as she’d mixed red and yellow pigments, the yellow not asserting much emphasis on its opponent’s forceful red. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both cups were releasing a tall cloud of steam with no foreseeable end. Sansa blew into hers to cool down the tea, though Sandor didn’t feel like doing that, so he just watched the steam pile out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa brought over a mason jar full of honey, and one of those fancy honey wands Sandor didn’t believe anyone actually had in real life— again, leave it to the Starks. She waved the wooden wand around in the jar and dropped three huge dollops into her cup as he watched, amused. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want some tea with that honey?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” said Sansa, but her face had gone red. She took a sip after a moment, but the way she stuck her tongue out and panted told Sandor that the tea was obviously still piping. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stared through the pale liquid in his teacup, right to the bottom where the white silicone shone green. He put one dollop of honey into the cup and swirled the wand around, which felt very similarly to mixing paint at work. He’d just had to paint the other day. Then, unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about paint, and painting, and work, and painting at work. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It became apparent to him that he was still stirring the tea, long after the honey had completely dissolved. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Obviously Sansa noticed too. She clamped her hand around his. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Sandor nodded. “I was just thinking about work.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face fell and she sighed, though her hand still held his firmly. “Sandor, you’re supposed to let <em>go</em> of your problems on vacation.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was just thinking about...” he twirled the wand in circles and the pale green tea spun, “mixing paint.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” her hand relaxed but she looked a little uncertain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And it reminded me that I wanted to tell you that Tormund was actually <em>nice</em> to me this week.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa smiled. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Sandor nodded again. “He even apologized. I think it was on Tuesday. He said he was ‘sorry for being a dick.’ But I got the feeling that it wasn’t his idea, so I just brushed it off.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well whose idea do you think it was?” She took her hand back to hold her cup. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. Might’ve been Bronn, but probably only because he was tired of the awkward tension that’s always there. I’m tired of it too. I don’t know who else it could’ve been.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s cheeks got red very suspiciously, and she looked at her tea.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa,” he teased, “do <em>you</em> know whose idea it might’ve been?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did <em>not</em> tell him to apologize,” she said flatly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But...” she began.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor laughed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop! I swear I haven’t even seen Tormund since you and I had lunch again last week. But... if it wasn’t Bronn, it might’ve been Brienne?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh huh.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I kind of told her.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not surprised,” Sandor laughed. “Wait. Let me guess. Five minutes after I fell asleep, after I told you? Or maybe when you were ‘on the phone with your aunt’ in the bathroom before we left?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it was my aunt’s birthday actually. And what kind of person do you think I am that I would leave you while you were sleeping, especially after that?” she said. “I told Brienne after I got back into my car, after dropping you off.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh ok, so you waited an hour,” he said, smirking. “I’m impressed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. “It was more than an hour. Besides, she’s one of my closest friends. But I didn’t tell her what he said to you, I promise. Just that it was something really foul, and that it made me really angry. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told him off, because he’s been trying to get her to go out with him for half a year now. Except, she’s seeing someone. He said something really foul to her too and she even gave him a black eye, but apparently that wasn’t clear enough.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I remember him saying something about that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, it might’ve been her, but it certainly could’ve been Bronn too. Was he rude to you, during the apology?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, he was alright. It seemed sorta sincere. Obviously he’s been hearing a lot about his behavior, so maybe he’s trying to be... better. I told him that I shouldn’t have threatened to hospitalize him. We haven’t really spoken since, but it’s not as awkward as it was before.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That made Sansa smile. She flipped his hand palm up and traced lines on the inside while Sandor picked up his cup with the other. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The tea had cooled down to a tolerable temperature, and the taste was definitely minty. It wasn’t as cooling or toothpasty as he’d expected, though as a tea-drinking fledgling, he understood why Sansa put so much honey into her cup. He used the wand to stir in another dollop, one-handed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it good?” Sansa asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded and extended the cup to her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took one sip and frowned at the pale tea. “It’s not sweet enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was about to tease her some more when Arya’s squeaking voice became painfully apparent, all the way from across the campsite. She was leading her siblings and band of friends back to... well, wherever the hell they were going, while Robb and his girlfriend could be seen twenty five feet back, strolling along the path hand in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not ten minutes later, Cat and Ned were coming over to start cooking, which meant that Sandor and Sansa had to ‘move it along.’ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Robb and Jeyne had made the long journey back onto the campsite, despite having taken their sweet old time <em>canoodling</em> on the beaten dirt path. The kids were sitting in a wide circle beside the ten-person tent, performing what looked like a ritual. Bran, Sandor realized, who was sitting near Jon, seated on a bonfire log and chatting away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa and Sandor sat in camping chairs across from Robb and Jeyne. They talked, though the conversation was mostly between Sansa and Robb. Sansa played with his fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When dinner was ready, everyone gathered at the picnic tables. There wasn’t a lot of room for the fourteen of them between only two tables, but they made it work with a few extra camping chairs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The outside of Sandor’s knee was digging into the leg of the table as he sat crammed against Sansa’s side. On Sansa’s other side sat Jeyne, and her parents and Robb were across the table while Jon pulled up a camping chair to the head. The other table was ‘the kids’ table’.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least the spaghetti was good, and as was the mountain of awkwardly toasted garlic bread that Sandor wolfed down. And for the first time in the half dozen meals that he’d eaten with Sansa and her family, he was unquestionably comfortable. Usually he was worried about eating too fast or too messily, or taking too much food, or making everyone else feel uncomfortable for whatever reason, but he was so happy he didn’t worry about any of it. He ate as much as he wanted, like Sansa’s mom had been encouraging him to do since his very first meal with them before he’d even talked to Sansa, and he didn’t even think about whether or not anyone was looking at his scars. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was a new feeling. He wondered how long it’d be sticking around before Sansa interrupted his thoughts to ask if he wanted to split a dessert. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">**</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the end of their dessert-ing, the sun had set. The two of them had hung around the picnic tables while most of the others went back to what they were doing before. Sansa’s parents were cleaning and what Sandor could assume was preparing things for tomorrow. Arya went back to being loud across the campsite, Robb and Jeyne went back to lounging amongst themselves, and Bran and Jon paced around the bonfire log. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was waiting for Sansa to guess the next letter to his Hangman word when he caught smoke under his nose. It didn’t take him a lot of time to start looking around for where it was coming from, nor did it take long for him to come to a conclusion. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jon and Bran had started a fire in the pit, currently small but growing larger by the minute. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was almost annoyingly amusing to him, because he initially didn’t want to go on the trip as certainly there’d be campfire activities: ghost storytelling and marshmallow roasting, and all those other things that Sansa definitely liked. These were camping rites of passage, and she had every right to like them, only unfortunately one of these rites of passage was campfires. He went on the trip because he decided that it probably wouldn’t matter very much if he was around a campfire as long as Gregor wasn’t there, because the campfire hadn’t hurt him all by itself. He also went because it’d been almost two decades and that seemed like it should’ve been enough time to heal from an event that had been so extremely short in comparison. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately his almost-two-decades length of avoiding fires and the pits that contained them leveled the scale against him. Smoke poured out of the fire pit, right in the direction of their table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry!” Jon called out as Bran laughed. “You guys might want to move out of the way! Can’t really help the wind.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was trying to calm his breathing pattern when Sansa grabbed his wrist. Her eyes were dark, and he knew that she knew exactly what was going on. “Are you okay? We can go somewhere else if you want to,” she offered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shook his head. “I’m fine. There’s no ‘g,’” he replied, pointing to the incomplete little stick figure he’d drawn beside their round of Hangman. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As the minutes stole away several more rounds of Hangman, Sandor was trying very hard to ignore the growing fire he could see from the corner of his eye. Despite knowing logically that it was contained to the pit, he was suspicious with each jump of the flames that the fire was going to spread and eat him alive. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The peak arrived when the marshmallow roasting part of the evening began. Sandor didn’t want to roast any marshmallows. Sansa offered to roast enough for the two of them to share so that he didn’t miss out. Sandor didn’t want her to have to do that, and he thought it would be alright if he went near the campfire because he was big enough to defend himself this time, and it had been almost two fucking decades. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulled a long, uniform stick from a plastic bag of long, uniform marshmallow-roasting sticks. Sansa told him that she didn’t think it was a very good idea, but she didn’t stop him from pulling a marshmallow out of the bag. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mostly everyone was sitting down and eating their freshly golden (a few of them were charred) marshmallows while Robb and two of the young people Sandor didn’t know were around the campfire. The fire didn’t seem so big after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor stabbed the marshmallow through the center and took a few steps closer to the flames. Sansa was keeping a very short distance away, and watching his every move with focused eyes. He held out the stick near the edge of the fire and watched as the smoke warped the air around the fluffy white lump. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gulped. The swarm of heat licked his hands, and he wasn’t sure if that or his own nerves were causing his palms to sweat so badly. His face was getting hot as well and he was thinking that it was probably time to take Sansa up on her offer of going somewhere else. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Sandor pulled his marshmallow away, however, and saw that it was golden on that side, the accomplishment gave him a sweet rush and he decided he could hold out just a few more minutes, as this was surely so conducive to his growth. He turned the marshmallow over once more after a moment to fawn over how his patience had paid off, even though every crackle of the fire made his stomach lurch, and every spark that went up into the air made him tremble. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was still lingering nearby, waiting to see if she would need to rescue him from his marshmallow stick. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was determined to make sure she didn’t have to do any rescuing. It almost worked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor turned the marshmallow one more time, the last turn before it would be ‘cooked’ through, golden all the way around. Pleased with himself, he looked over to Sansa again and smiled at her. Not a moment after he looked back to his marshmallow, it burst into flames. Sandor threw it out of his hands without blinking and it fell deep into the pit. His marshmallow was gone, his cockiness over having ‘been able to do it’ was gone, and his momentary comfort in the presence of fire was gone. The smoke was making his throat dry, and his hands were sweaty and shaking. He shoved them into his pockets. Despite having backed away, his face still felt like it was burning anew. He was so frustrated he wanted to cry, or yell, or throw something that wasn’t a burnt marshmallow on a stick. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was in front of him before he even noticed, trying to shield him from the flames. “Are you okay?” she asked again, even though the degree of concern in her tone implied that she knew he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sandor shook his head. His eyes were still locked on the flames. “I don’t want to be here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nodded and laid her roasting stick across a camping chair. “Ok. Let’s go for a walk.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded, she stepped aside to inform her parents, and they started along the dirt trail. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa wove her hand through his, which was still coated with sweat. “I’m really sorry that that happened,” she said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” said Sandor. “It was a horrible idea. I just thought that... it wouldn’t still be this bad.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The path was dimly lit, and there were several other occupied campsites that they walked by. He wasn’t really sure where they were going, but that wasn’t a pressing question as anywhere would be better than looking at that bottomless pit of fire. It felt good to walk, and to feel cool air on his face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You couldn’t have known that it would be,” she said. “Do you feel any better?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Except for the scene I just caused, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t. I don’t think most of them even noticed. You weren’t loud, just... you just looked scared. And even if anyone noticed, they’d never hold something like that over you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor tried not to think about it. It was a lot easier listening to Sansa talk about her really annoying clients at work, or the fight that her two of her friends had gotten into, and how uncomfortable that was making her, or the escalation of her favorite couple’s relationship on her favorite tv show. He could talk all night long about annoying work experiences, and all the creative ways he knew and used to avoid unwanted social situations, and relationship dynamics on tv shows, but he couldn’t talk about fire. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor waved his hand, the one that Sansa wasn’t holding, lazily through the cold, open air. He was still considerably shaken, though pleased with himself that he hadn’t cried in front of everyone else, and also pleased that he’d finally stopped sweating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was lucky, he supposed, that he had managed to avoid campfires for so long, and unlucky that his reacquaintance with them was tonight. He felt bad about the marshmallows though; Sansa had only gotten to toast one before he freaked out and they fled. He silently hoped that the fire would still be there when they got back so that she could have some more, even if the thought of going back to it made his insides twist into a knot. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was thinking of how much he cared about her when they saw a sign that said <em>Lake</em>, and when she suggested that they go to said body of water Sandor thought that he wished his fondness for her was a little less plentiful. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A lake,” Sandor said flatly, bending his knees awkwardly to step down the steep path. “Are we recording for Friday the 13th?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa sighed and grabbed his arm to balance herself. “You can’t talk about serial killers when we’re alone at night in the woods, Sandor.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well we’re not really alone,” he pointed out. “There are sites right over there. If you screamed people would hear you, and they’d come. If I screamed, I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wouldn’t have to scream. I think you’re bigger than the serial killer from Friday the 13th, and you wear a lot of dark clothes. He’d probably be scared of <em>you</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a tall, fallen tree trunk in their path. It was really easy for Sandor to throw a leg over, but Sansa was a bit too short. When it was her turn, he offered his hand and helped her get over. “If history’s taught us anything, he should be more scared of you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only if you were there, and he was being mean to you, I think,” Sansa said, leavening her breath after her strenuous climb over the trunk. “I don’t really do things like that when my feelings are the only ones at stake.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think hurting my feelings would be the serial killer’s tactic, Sansa. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone being murdered with verbal abuse, at least,” he added.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I forgot that we were talking about serial killers, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The path got wider and wider until Sandor looked ahead and saw the moonlight beaming off the surface of the water. He couldn’t determine how far across the lake spanned because of the darkness, though there were visible evergreens on the other side, and they looked hundreds of feet away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any serial killers down here anyway. Mosquitoes, probably,” he told her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They laid down on the flattest dirt patch they could find. Sansa complained about how cold the air was growing. Sandor thought she deserved as much, seeing as she didn’t dress for the weather, which made him all the more annoyed when he took off his very warm and comfortable hoodie and gave it to her. He remembered thinking a while back that if he were her boyfriend, she could count herself entitled to as many kisses as she wanted, but the clothing theft needed some renegotiating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor put an arm under her head, and with the other he lazily ran his fingers over her waist. They watched the almost-full moon for several minutes until Sansa braided her fingers through his. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry you didn’t get very many marshmallows,” he said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay, I like you more than marshmallows anyway.” She clutched his hand to her chest. “The fire will still be there when we get back, but it will have died down. We’ll just sneak back into our tent.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor was still thinking about the potential marshmallows he’d robbed her of, even though she obviously couldn’t care less.He was starting to feel really guilty about her always taking care of him, and the several times in which she’d pulled herself out of enjoyable situations to make him feel better. It was so much more frustrating than his pyrophobia. She was always supportive and thoughtful and he was starting to feel like he wasn’t reciprocating that very well. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wanted to look for the same constellations she had the first time they’d stargazed together. He mused as to whether or not she knew of any other constellations, even though it was charming that she knew any at all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dirt wasn’t getting any more comfortable, and he wasn’t sure if the tickling on his legs was coming from real bugs or fake bugs invented by his imagination. He was listening to her teach him the constellations that she knew, and reciting their names back for confirmation, though it didn’t help that she was constantly questioning herself as to whether or not her identifications were correct. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The stars were bright, and the moon looked bigger, and it was really cold without a sweatshirt. Sandor’s back didn’t feel so good on the ground after already being sore, but he deterred from telling Sansa that because he knew that she’d immediately problem solve for him to be more comfortable, and she’d already done that once today. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaned her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist, and time seemed to slip by. Truthfully, he’d started to wonder if she’d fallen asleep until her hand moved in small circles over his side. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think a mosquito just bit my face.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed his arms. “They’ve been feasting on me since I took off my sweatshirt. Are you ready to go back?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nodded. Sandor rolled up, and then he reached out for her hand to pull her up as well. He was starting to get really cold but he didn’t have the heart to ask for his sweatshirt back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walked through the rocky pathway, climbed over the tall tree trunk, up an annoyingly steep hill, and back onto the campsite roads. The way back was a little different (it was too cold to take the ‘scenic route’), so they got there a lot quicker. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as Sansa predicted, the fire pit was still ablaze, though also as she’d predicted, it had died down enormously. She pulled the sweatshirt off and gave it back to him, and it was warm inside when Sandor pulled it back over his arms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they got closer and closer to the camping chairs, Sandor realized, after a moment, that Jon was sitting in one of them scrolling his phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jon?” said Sansa. Obviously she realized he was there, too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jon got out of the chair when he heard Sansa and shushed her with a finger pressed to his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you doing out here?” she whispered loudly. Sandor stood by with one ear focused on the conversation and the other focused on the simmering of the coals. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jon gestured to his tent. “They’re in there,” he whispered back. “They wanted to be alone.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Robb and Jeyne?” Sansa asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Jon muttered sarcastically, glaring at her, “Bonnie and Clyde. And keep your voice down,” he whispered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was still talking to Jon when her hand slid into Sandor’s, and Sandor was still still watching the red glow of the remaining fire in the pit. He could feel the dry ashy particles on the outsides of his hands, while the insides were already starting to sweat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The marshmallow roasting stick that Sansa had laid over the arms of one of the camping chairs was still exactly where she’d left it. Sandor looked around for the bag of marshmallows only momentarily until he saw that they were resting in another camping chair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor let go of Sansa’s hand. He made it to the stick in a few seconds. By the time he’d shoved a marshmallow onto the factory-cut piece of wood, Sansa had turned to see what was going on. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tilted her head at him skeptically. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m going to try again,” he told her, even though his hand was already too clammy to maintain a proper grip on the stick. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa bit her lip, and there was no question of whether or not she thought it was a bad idea. That said, she stayed right where she was across the fire pit and watched him supportively. Jon had gone to the camp bathrooms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor looked down at the short flames. The fire had died down tremendously since they’d left, and even still his forehead was sweating as he moved his hand closer to the heat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tried not to look at the glowing coals at the bottom, and instead stared at a tree while he slowly rotated the marshmallow. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even though he wasn’t looking directly at the fire, however, he could still see it clearly in his field of vision. He could still hear the abrupt crackling and popping, he could still feel the smoke whirl through his clothes, and he could smell it, too. His legs were wobbling again and he had to shift his feet a lot to keep steady, but at least he was finally warm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait. Sandor,” said Sansa, “I think it’s done.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor dragged his eyes off the very nice looking and appropriately distracting tree and set them back onto the marshmallow. The color from the fire was distorting his view of the little white cylinder, but when he pulled the stick close to him, he could see that it was golden. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa was in front of him before he could even process that she’d moved at all. She put one hand on his upper arm and the other helped keep the roasting stick in place. “You did it,” she beamed. “It’s perfect.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not,” he told her, twirling the marshmallow around so they could examine it all around. “Some parts are golden, some parts are burnt, and some are still white.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh Sandor,” she rubbed his arm. “That’s not what you should be focusing on at all. You <em>did it</em>, that’s all that matters. You should be really proud of yourself.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolled his eyes instinctively, but he knew that she was right. It took a lot out of him to stand like that for those... four minutes, and he <em>was</em> proud of himself, even if it hadn’t turned out perfect. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go on, eat it while it’s hot,” Sansa said. “It’ll be better that way.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pulled it off the stick and it left a gooey white residue behind. He pushed it towards her. “I want you to have it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shook her head. “I couldn’t. You deserve it. I know that that was really hard for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You only got to have one earlier, and we had to leave because of me—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not your fault that we—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just eat the marshmallow please. Like you said, they’re better when they’re hot.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glared at him and accepted the marshmallow into her palm. “Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While satisfied when she bit into the marshmallow, Sandor was utterly unsurprised when she gave him the other half. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to have at least half,” she said as she chewed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolled his eyes at her and shoved the other half into his mouth. It was sweet and sticky, unevenly crisp on the outside, gooey on the inside, even after their delays. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Sansa touched his hands, “how do you feel? Was it good?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded. “Tired.” It was half true; he wouldn’t be falling asleep for a while, but he did feel pretty drowsy after the fear-facing experience. He wanted to take his shirt off and lay down in their blanket nest and cuddle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” she said, glancing at her phone for the time. “It’s about time for bed anyway. No more fire for tonight.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sansa?” said Ned, emerging from his enormous tent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She ran her fingers over Sandor’s stomach. “I’ll meet you in there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor nodded, waved back to Ned, turned to unzip the ‘door’ to his tent and climbed in. It was too dark to really see much, but the light coming from outside the tent helped him navigate to his backpack. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It felt so nice to take his socks and shoes off, and the smoky, sweaty sweatshirt. He changed out of his pants and into the comfy pajama bottoms Sansa had gotten them weeks ago, and he was about to grab a clean shirt to put on when he remembered their deal. Their ‘deal’ which was overtly a win-win for her, if Sandor miscounted that he <em>did</em> consistently overheat when they slept, <em>and</em> his excitement about how much closer he’d feel to her without the extra layer, <em>and</em> his swollen pride upon knowing that she wanted to wear his clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sandor pulled his shirt over his head and stuffed it into his backpack before climbing under the sleeping bag. The ground was not going to be good for his back, but it was unlikely that anything could be done on that front. </span> <span class="s1">His feet were too big and his legs were too long for the sleeping bag blanket to cover them, so he moved his toes around until he found another layer to wiggle them under. And then it started to seem fun, because he was a little bored waiting for Sansa to come back, so he wiggled his toes back and forth between the sleeping bags. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor got tired of the game pretty quickly. He could hear Sansa’s voice distantly outside the tent, and as her sound waned back and forth his heart began to race. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flexed one of his arms and ran his fingers over the muscles, and then his stomach, just for a little confidence boost as he waited for her to come back in. The mosquitoes had definitely feasted, he realized, as his fingertips found several swollen, itchy bumps on their exploration. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was tracing the seam of fine black hairs that went down and past his stomach, thinking about Sansa’s hands and wondering if she would touch him tonight, when the tent began to unzip. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor jerked his hand away and sat up, huffing as Sansa stepped into their space. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She flicked their electronic lantern on and smirked when she saw him. “Looks like you bought into the liver health thing after all, huh?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We had a deal,” Sandor said. He reached across their sleeping pad for the clothes she’d snatched from his dresser a week before, balled them up in his hand and threw them at her chest as she sat down by her luggage. “If you’re looking to boost <em>your</em> liver health, however,” he teased. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She paused, and he could see that she was thinking about it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was just kidding,” Sandor said, raising his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa laughed. She turned around and pulled her fancy looking blouse off without hesitation, and the abruptness of her skin becoming visible made Sandor’s breath catch in his throat. The lantern lit her back up, and he dropped gracelessly against his pillow to watch as she unhooked her bra. She snatched his baggy t-shirt and pulled it over her head, compiling her hair into a chubby bun when that was finished. The bottoms took even less time, and she shut the lantern off and left them in nearly total darkness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor felt her as she made herself comfortable next to him, and he felt her freezing feet dig under his pajamas and rub against his bare legs, too. He jerked his legs away from her and held her at arm’s length. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she said bashfully, and he could hear her feet stirring together underneath the sleeping bag sprawled out over them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor laid his head against his pillow and made a muffled <em>mmph</em> at her when she stilled again. His shoulders were already starting to ache. “<em>My</em> bed is comfier than this sleeping bag nest,” he said plainly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s feet were still a little frozen when she curled against him again, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant after how much adrenaline he’d produced by roasting a single marshmallow, and how much that had made his body heat rise. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course your bed is comfier,” she said, leaning over him on a forearm. “We’re on the <em>ground</em>. My bed, on the other hand...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor closed his eyes, chuckling through his overtired state. “Your bed,” he began, “is at the top of the hierarchy of beds.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We can get a mattress like mine someday,” Sansa offered, combing the hair beside his temples very gently with her fingertips. “But longer, because I’ve noticed that you’re a little too tall for it.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek, and then his cheekbone, then above his eye before tilting his head back so she could go lower.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><em>Someday. </em>His insides lurched. “It makes my head spin when you say things like that,” Sandor admitted, silenced when she put her lips on his and unable to restrict himself from letting out a muffled sigh.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Sansa stifled a snicker that indicated just how pleased with herself she was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a very welcome change for him to be so relaxed and comfortable after the encounters with the fire. Both encounters, while on the subject, Sandor could only hold himself accountable for, yet Sansa hadn’t faulted him once. She was guilty only of being supportive and comforting and sweet, and telling white lies about health benefits to get him out of his clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Speaking of his clothes, the lack thereof was seeming to be in his favor. He was getting very very hot despite Sansa having flung the sleeping bag away, and her skin always seeming to have the temperature of a freezer. Could’ve been because she was halfway on top of him, bouncing the heat back, or perhaps because he was still coming down from an adrenaline high, but the cause was insignificant seeing as he didn’t foresee cooling down anytime soon and also had no intentions of persuading her to move an inch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of Sansa’s hands scooped under his neck, while her thumb pressed gently under his jaw. She kissed the center of his throat very slowly, and every few achingly long seconds he could feel her tongue run over his overly sensitive skin. She really liked kisses, Sandor knew very well, and it was not a problem here. Her fingers slid under his hair and rubbed against his scalp, and he tilted his head further back against the camping pillow, relenting. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this okay?” she whispered, and he waited zero milliseconds before responding with an unhesitant nod. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa traced a line around the perimeter of one of his pecs and he held his breath to keep from shuddering. “You can let me know whenever it isn’t, and I won’t be upset, I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm,” Sandor murmured.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa’s legs stirred against his, and he could feel her boobs pressed against his chest, and he was so comfortable and uncomfortable, relaxed and overwhelmed, aroused and tired, he was starting to experience some serious challenges in functionality. His heartbeat was so obscenely loud he thought Robb and Jon and Jeyne in the next tent over, twenty feet away would surely hear it, but Sansa gave no notion as to display that she could hear it at all. He was burning up everywhere and just lifting his hands a few inches to touch Sansa’s face felt like an enormous chore, but the way that she was touching him back was more than worth it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could feel her hands traveling past his shoulders and over the sensitive spots on the insides of his arms, and he fought back bouts of laughter because it tickled, but they weren’t in the privacy of her bedroom or his. Sansa traced circles over his stomach and around his sides, prolonging a slow trail of kisses down his chest at the same time. Her fingertips were so gentle and her kisses so slow that while he fought chuckles, Sandor couldn’t stop himself from panting. Until, however, her tongue went in a circle around one of his nipples and he made a noise a lot louder than a pant. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he could even process the noise himself, Sansa’s hand was covering his mouth. His eyes shot open.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor, we have to be quiet!” she whispered, gripping his arm emphasizingly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t help it. Sandor nodded, having a very hard time doing anything else, being tired and sweaty and aroused and with another human halfway on top of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa swung a leg over him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She lowered her chest onto his, put her hands on his cheeks, found his lips with hers and they kissed and kissed. His senses were so heightened; her foot would touch the loud sleeping bag and the hairs on his neck would stand up, or her fingertips would crawl over his scalp and his spine would break out into shivers, or he’d catch the scent of her hair and his stomach would clench. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything was triggering him, which was hard for Sandor to wrap his head around seeing as they’d gone so much farther than this. He’d anticipated getting used to her touching him a lot sooner than the rate he’d been going at, but his body was not agreeing. Between arousal and exhaustion it was becoming rapidly more difficult for him to move, and he didn’t know what to do, but he also didn’t want to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa rested her head on his neck and took a deep breath. Sandor eagerly anticipated more physical attention, but the longer she remained still the more he became certain that she was done for the night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pushed really gently on her shoulders and when she sat back on his groin, he let out a sigh. “Why did you stop?” he asked. “Are you too tired?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Sansa shook her head, pressing her finger to his lips for a moment to remind him to be quiet. “I thought that <em>you</em> might’ve been too tired, actually. I know that you’ve had a pretty long couple of hours.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not opposed to an even longer couple of hours.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sandor,” she leaned very close, “please be quiet.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was prepared to be sarcastic with her but she put her hands on his sides and lowered her body over his and he suddenly didn’t have anything to say. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait,” he placed his hands over hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa froze. ”What is it?” she asked, and he could almost hear her having a panic attack about whether or not she’d overstepped a boundary. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing’s wrong,” Sandor clarified. “I’m just wondering if you can take this off,” he gestured to her shirt (<em>his</em> shirt). “It smells like it hasn’t been washed in a year.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I’ve only had it for a week, so I think that says more about you,” she teased, lifting her arms and pulling the shirt in question over her head. “I have to put it back on by the time we go to bed though.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a very very small amount of light that was getting into their tent from the lamp posts on the beaten dirt road, but it was enough for him to see her features, and more than enough to make his lungs tighten at the sight of them. He reached up to put his hand over her chest and her nipple was stiff against the center of his palm, sharp as she leaned into him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now that her oversized shirt was off, she was clad only in his boxers, which rode up her thighs and bunched at her waist. With his free hand, Sandor touched her ribs and the soft flesh between them, her belly, her hips. Her skin was smooth and supple, and he could feel her stomach clenching raggedly as he traced lines over it. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor pulled her down to a hover above his face and held her snug with one hand on her hip and the other at her back. He was, as usual, thankful for the darkness that kept her from seeing him, and agitated at the same darkness that kept him from seeing her. How was he supposed to know what she wanted, if not by reading her eyes? He held himself still, he held her still, and he very slowly and not without ample hesitation drew her to his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sansa slipped her hands into the hair beside his temples. She was hovering inches from his face and she was staring at him, he could feel it. With her boobs pressed to his chest, and with his very thin pajamas and his very thin boxers covering her and with his very hard cock between them, he was able to shove his anxiety back, if only a little. He drew his knees up behind her butt and groaned when she slid over him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“F..uh—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shh,” Sansa said, pushing on his shoulders while she ground herself across his lap. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor squeezed his thighs together, his heartbeat raging as he watched her. He slid his hands up her shorts, grazing the outsides of her bare thighs and holding her closer to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly she was pressing her hips deeper into him and he moaned, and once again a hand clamped over his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">”Sandor!” she whisper-yelped, covering his mouth and continuing to sway back and forth. “I’m— c<em>rap</em>,” she pressed onto him and tilted her head back, only for a moment, and then she stopped moving. “Do you think,” she grabbed one of his hands with her free one and drew it close between them, “that you could...” His fingertips, directed mostly by her, grazed the front of her boxers. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">For a second Sandor thought he was going to jizz himself. He was glad that she was covering his mouth then, because her hand was all that was keeping him quiet. With his eyes locked on hers through the darkness, he nodded, and traced two fingers over her core through the soft fabric, angling the tips of his fingers inwards and rubbing on blind intuition. She ground down into his hand and onto his cock and made a muffled noise through closed lips. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor, with her hand still covering his mouth, traced up and, slowly as to include time for her to stop him, slipped his fingertips under the worn waistband. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Of course Sansa would be the one to wear</em> underwear <em>under</em> underwear, he thought as he discovered a second garment, sliding his fingers beneath it, his heart pounding louder and harder than he thought possible. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>Yes</em>,” she moaned very quietly for only him to hear, her eyelids fluttering closed. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor poked around unsurely, making her jump every now and then as he searched for her center through radiating heat. Didn’t take long for him to find it, and when he did, his cock throbbed madly and he thrust up to her of his body’s accord. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa pressed harder down on his lips. “Sandor!” she exclaimed, hushed. “You’re moaning loud enough for this whole campground to hear you. Be <em>quiet</em>.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He pressed his tongue to the center of her palm mockingly, but it made her take her hand back. She ran her index finger over his lips and he parted them for her, letting her slip her fingers over his tongue. He sucked on them gently, licking the salt and nibbling her knuckles. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa sighed, pressing down on his hips and his hand again. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He struggled between the fabric at the back of his hand restricting his movement and simply not knowing what to do. He did have the sense to coat his fingers with her, and from there he began to spread them, gently, upward.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh— <em>yes, </em><em>right there.</em>” She clamped down above him that time, driving what he presumed to be her clit across his fingers and continuing to slide her hips quickly over his. He tilted his head back up to the tent ceiling and she slipped her fingers further into his mouth. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor’s thighs clenched, his stomach went tight, and he was starting to feel his toes curl up. He was going to come. In his pants. In <em>her </em>pants, that she’d gotten him. He tried to grab her leg with his free hand so that he might be able to interfere with this fate, but it was too late. She ground down, and then he was shuddering, ready to scream and probably going to until her fingers drew out of his mouth and clamped back over his lips again, wet and sticky against his cheek. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">She hitched a breath, and he could feel her watching him even through the darkness as he fought to stay quiet. He stretched out, tilting his head back and taking a fistful of the sleeping bag he lay on top of while the other hand he kept in her shorts. As he panted under her palm he noticed how sticky his thighs were, and was a little embarrassed by how he’d lost control over himself. Sansa ran her fingers over his stomach as it clenched and beneath her he thought he was burning. It felt so good that his eyes stung, or maybe that wasn’t why they were stinging.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">With her free hand, she reached down and pulled his hand away from her boxers. Sandor wondered if he’d done something wrong, or if she was stopping him because she’d already reached her high, though he thought he’d notice more if she had. He knew he was a little dull, but he didn’t think he was <em>so</em> dull so as not to notice a woman having a orgasm on top of him. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa shifted, and then he could feel the back of her hand flitting over his lower abdomen. She was finishing herself, it seemed, which made him feel somewhat inadequate, but the endorphins from his climax were blocking most of it out. For now. He would think about it later, he decided, and right now he would be as composed as possible after all the events of the day and wait for her to lay next to him again.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa pulled her hand from his mouth and braced it on his chest. The chilled night air was a kiss on his lips, and his face contorted as he reveled in the ability to breathe freely again. He placed a hand on one of Sansa’s thighs and touched her stomach gently with the other. She ground down against him— the over-sensitization eliciting a gasp from Sandor— and then her legs were hugging his hips tightly. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">For a moment there was nothing. Her legs softened ever so slightly, but she sat stiff as a board on top of him, and <em>quiet</em>, so quiet until she released a strained, broken sigh. <em>She </em>was careful with herself, however. <em>She </em>didn’t sound like a pig being slaughtered as Sandor had, and kept herself restrained even as she trembled. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor sat up and caught her around the waist to keep her from falling backwards as he let his legs loosen under her. “Is everything okay?” he whispered, <em>finally</em> whispering, hoping he wasn’t misinterpreting her silence or her stillness, hoping he hadn’t done something he wasn’t supposed to do. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa laid her head on his shoulder and her arms slid up around his back. “Of course it’s okay,” relief in her voice and her breath as she sighed. “Can you grab my shirt, wherever you put it?”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He twisted out from beneath her and searched around blindly for the shirt, and then to his backpack for some tissues or napkins or a towel to clean himself off with. He found a sock. Well, it was better than nothing, he decided as he stuffed it into his pants and moved it over his legs, his heart racing all over again as he thought over the last twenty minutes. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor inverted the sock and put it into a side pocket. He took a breath, grabbed the shirt, and crawled back over to his side. “Here,” he held it out, and Sansa shrugged it back over herself.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">She took his shoulder and pulled him close when they were settled again. “Thank you, Sandor,” she said, rubbing the back of his neck gently. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Mm,” he mumbled, sighing at the faintest release of tension in his back, “for what?” </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“For being here,” she said, sounding as though this declaration was really important to her. “For coming on this trip with me, and for being here whenever I need you to be.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">”Well,” he smirked, his eyes closed, “you’re lucky that I didn’t have anything booked this weekend, then, weren’t you, as I’m usually <em>so</em> busy...”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa dug her fingertips into his upper back and he purred, even though it was really meant as a display of her annoyance with him. “I mean it, Sandor. I mean that you, you mean a lot to me. And I know that things have been hard for you...” </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sandor pushed his knee between hers, moving closer to where her fingers were pressing so that she might dissolve more of the soreness in his muscles. “They haven’t been that hard, Sansa. They’re still the best they’ve ever been. Could you,” he tilted, “lower?” </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh— of course,” she dragged her fingers lower, kneading his tender flesh in the gentle sort of way. “Are you all right?”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">”Just sore, you’re doing perfectly.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Sansa laid a kiss on his shoulder and drew him in. “All right,” she said, and he could tell that she was smiling. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He couldn’t speak as to how long she’d been massaging him when he felt himself becoming drowsy, in a manner that felt strangely like inebriation. “Sansa,” he said, running his fingers through her hair as he’d wanted to do so many hours ago in the car. “You mean just as much to me. Probably more.” </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“No,” she said gently, her fingers twiddling on his shoulder. “I think it’s about the same.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hola! so sorry about,,, taking two months to update. frankly I’ve had ten thousands words to this chapter sitting for more than a month, but I got really stuck writing the final scene in the tent for some reason. and then it was spooky month and I wanted to post halloween ficlets. also, sorry that this chapter is so obscenely long, but i hope that it provides slight compensation for me taking a thousand years to deliver it. </p><p>be well ! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nightmares, angst, smut.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mentions of past abuse</p><p>Tooth-rotting fluff ahead! And lots of feels :/</p><p>also! I’ve never written a dream sequence before so I apologize if it’s funky.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sandor rolled to his other side, his face melting into the pillow while his body sank down to a cold, dusty living room. </p><p> </p><p>He’d never liked it here, and even less now. There was a dull pounding coming from the kitchen, and he could smell the smoke from where it poured in through the cracked windows. He couldn’t see any orange flames, but it didn’t matter: if he stayed, he would burn. Sandor knew it, but pounding in the kitchen was making his head feel funny... and the smoke turned his legs to lead. </p><p> </p><p>He whimpered. The smoke was close a moment ago, but it was everywhere now, coming to envelop him. He could see it emerging from the kitchen, bottling precious air as the dull pounding grew louder; he could see it walking down the mahogany staircase, tumbling over the steps; he could see it breathing through the walls. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor panted, his exposed arms sticky with sweat and smoke. He pulled his shirt over his head, shivering as the cool air snuck up behind him and caressed his back. Nearly stumbling over untied shoe laces, he bunched the shirt in his fingers and covered his mouth and nose with it. </p><p> </p><p>The pounding from the kitchen had come after him— someone was... banging on a pot, or smashing something with a baseball bat, it seemed, right beside his head. It was instinctual then for him to run, and so he did, out of the house and off the creaking front porch that yanked the shoes right off his feet. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor held himself as he ran down the empty street, clutching the fabric to his front in displeasure at his exposure. There was no one around; no one to help him or even to watch. Usually he would’ve been grateful for the lack of spectators, but now it only made him feel lonely. Where was everyone?</p><p> </p><p>The street seemed to go on forever and ever until it spread out, even and green. It was a field, of sorts, that he didn’t recognize... but there was something that he did recognize. A delicate sweep of red hair, a yellow sundress: Sansa. The pillows from her bed were spread out across the grass, he noticed. </p><p> </p><p>He ducked behind a tree when he caught on that she was twirling in the field, worried that she’d see him as he pulled the shirt back over his head. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor stepped out again, into the open, green field... approaching her with the same caution with which he might approach a wild animal. She was wild, but it wasn’t an attack that he was afraid of. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sandor</em>, she said, her voice serene. She wasn’t even looking at him. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sansa</em>, he whispered back, unsure.</p><p> </p><p><em>Sandor</em>, she called again, turning to him. He could see her pretty eyes smiling at him as her feet shifted in the perfect grass. She sat down against one of the pillows, crossing her legs and extending a hand to him. And then the smoke came. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sandor</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he said. “Sans...a. Sansa.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor blinked, throwing the blanket off of himself. </p><p> </p><p>The smoke alarm was going off. He scrambled out of his bed, pushing aside the sea of blankets. </p><p> </p><p>The alarm was blaring in the kitchen, bounding across the walls and through his sensitive, drowsy ears. His eyes were foggy and glazed with sleep when he staggered into the kitchen, but the orange-blue flames registered perfectly before him. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor froze. Fire. In his kitchen. A fire... in... the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>The flames snarled at him, caressing the countertops and the floor along one of the walls with desperate affection. There was broken glass, he noted dazedly, watching the paint on the wall darken to the color of rust.</p><p> </p><p>Smoke floated wondrously, drinking up the air and robbing Sandor of fixed oxygen. He didn’t dare open a window. He almost didn’t dare move at all, too stunned to take his eyes off of the dancing flames, until he found the energy to turn and go back into his bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>It was almost peaceful; his bedroom, his sanctuary. The place where his pictures of Sansa, of him and Sansa, lived. The place where his good memories sat printed in clumsy handwriting in locked-away journals, where his sketchbooks were, where his blanket nest awaited him with open arms and Sansa’s scent. The place where his heart was— his home. Everything he owned and cared about. It was the place where he could lay down after a horrible day, where he could cry, and scream, and punch his reflection in the face— the place where he desperately wanted to get away from and never go back to... and the only home that he had. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor sat down on the bed. </p><p> </p><p>The room was pitch black, though he could see the shadows from the growing fire dancing down the hallway, creeping closer to him dispassionately. He could hear the other residents trudging above him, escaping, and through the window by his nightstand he could hear people gathering outside. And he knew that he should be going, too— escaping— but... he couldn’t move. He could only sit in his bed with his legs under the covers, trying not to throw up at the smoke’s overwhelming stench. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled a blanket from his bed and clutched it to his chest. He was trying to filter out the smell coming from the kitchen, but instead, all he could smell was Sansa. Her sweet scent, trapped in the blankets he refused to wash so as to preserve her presence in his bed when she wasn’t there. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sansa</em>, he thought, taking a deep breath and wiping the pooled sweat off his clammy hands. She would help him, he thought, if she were here. She wouldn’t let him just sit here in a burning building.  </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s stomach flipped again and he began to cry, first, at the thought of never seeing Sansa again or hearing her sing or feeling her lips on his, and then harder, because he didn’t want to burn alive. He didn’t want to lay in his bed while the flames came to melt his hair and shred his flesh. He didn’t want his lungs to fill with smoke and ash while his skin bubbled and blistered and seared. He had to <em>leave</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor got out of the bed carefully. He turned on his flashlight— afraid to turn on the light switch in case this was an electrical fire— walked to his closet, and pulled a sweatshirt over his head. </p><p> </p><p>A little flash of green caught his eye and elicited a sigh from Sandor. He reached over to his desk and scooped up the mass of wire and stone, pushing it into his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>Even through the walls, Sandor could hear the crackling going on in the rest of the apartment. He stretched up clumsily in the darkness, his flashlight on the desk, tugging on a box of things he couldn’t bear to look at anymore, but certainly couldn’t afford to lose, and pulled it down with him. </p><p> </p><p>He had to leave, he really really really had to leave. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor started coughing; a vile, rasping choke. Whether it was because of the smoke or the fear or the burning tears falling down his cheeks, he didn’t know, but it made him all the hastier. </p><p> </p><p>There was just one more thing. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor took a deep breath, covered his face with his sleeve, and walked out of his bedroom. He gasped at the blazing flames that swallowed his kitchen whole, and fought the screaming urge to run right back into his bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>Just a few more steps, his feet shuffled forward. </p><p> </p><p>The wall was condensing under his fingertips— or was that his own sweat? Sandor blinked, dragging his fingers up. The tape wasn’t letting in, and as the side of him began to heat up quickly, the unwelcome warmth caressing his scars, Sandor didn’t have an easy time holding onto his patience. He didn’t have the fingernails for this, nor the time. </p><p> </p><p>Cursing, Sandor dug his fingers under the backside of the drawing and pulled it towards him as gently as he could— but it was all for nothing. All for fucking <em>nothing</em>. The tape gave a little, and then the paper was tearing free at the beckoning of his fingers. Sandor grabbed it and pulled it close, observing the damage. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said quietly, helplessly, unable to stop himself from repeating the word over and over again. It was ruined! Her drawing— ruined! All of her time, wasted— all of her work... and for nothing. Ruined— torn to bits because of his impatience. Sandor’s eyes began to water anew but he stopped himself; he didn’t have time for this! He brought the remains of the paper back to his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>The drawing, the box of memorabilia, his cell phone. Sandor drew the window open and climbed out— there was no fucking screen, one thing, at least, to be thankful of his landlord for. </p><p> </p><p>The next parts were easy, just walking down the steep black steps with his couldn’t-live-without things in his arms, feeling his feet touch the wet asphalt, and getting as far away as he could from that fucking building. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor didn’t bother to walk over to the crowd of tenants and police officers to let them know that he was, in fact, alive, and instead went in the direction of his car. He pulled out his phone. </p><p> </p><p>A few rings went by, each one making his chest heavier with guilt for calling her at all at this hour, and then a soft sleepy voice. “Sandor?” she lulled. “Is everything okay?” </p><p> </p><p>“Um,” he opened the back door and placed his things on the seat, “my apartment is... burning.” Her drawing, he thought miserably. That wasn’t okay either. He wondered if now was the right time to tell her. To rip the band-aid off immediately. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>He winced at the careful alarm in her voice, wondering if it was a good dream that he’d disrupted. “I don’t know what happened. I just... woke up, and the smoke alarm...” he shivered. “Is it okay if I come over?” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh god— Oh my god, of course. Do you need me to pick you up?” she said. She was so sleepy! </p><p> </p><p>“No,” said Sandor, turning the key. The last thing he wanted was for this to be an even bigger thing with her coming all the way here to get him. Her fucking drawing was ruined, and all because of his impatience— because of his miserable fear. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? I don’t mind at all,” Sansa paused. “I’m a little worried of you driving at this hour...” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>He was too shaken to laugh at her concern. “Well, I’m already on my way, so I guess I’ll be there in half an hour.” </p><p> </p><p>There was silence over the line for a few moments. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Will you stay on the phone with me while you drive? So I don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p>The guilt in Sandor’s chest was replaced by a very fierce warmth. It almost sent him over the edge— of which after the events of tonight he was only hanging on by a very, very weak thread. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he said, placing the phone on the instrument panel and turning the heat on. </p><p> </p><p>Thirty-five minutes later when he pulled into Sansa’s driveway, she was standing on the porch in her big fluffy robe, hugging herself with the phone stuck between her head and shoulder. “I see you,” she said, hanging up a few moments later.</p><p> </p><p>Sandor climbed out of the car, taking the moment to gather himself as she came towards him.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa threw her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his chest, and there was immediate relief... but he knew he had to tell her. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he said gently, breathing in her delightful scent and wishing neither of them ever had to move again. “I...“ </p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright,” she said, “let’s go inside.” She took his hand in hers and they walked up the familiar steps, onto the planked porch, and through her welcoming door. </p><p> </p><p>All of the lights were off; Sandor couldn’t see a damned thing and he only wondered in awe as she navigated them swiftly through the blackness. They were very very quiet as they went upstairs, mindful not to wake anyone. He wondered if she’d told anyone that he was even coming, or if her family would just find out in the morning that they had a stowaway. </p><p> </p><p>The lamp on her bedside table was on, and the windowsill air conditioning unit, too, even though it was past freezing in her room. One glance over at the bed made his heart leap with relief as he saw her lovely blanket arrangement waiting for them.  </p><p> </p><p>“—The fire was in your kitchen?” she gasped. “Do you know how it got started?” </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he tugged at one of his pant loops. “I don’t think I left anything on when I went to bed,” Sandor said quietly. “I couldn’t have— I always double check.” </p><p> </p><p>“You always do!” she agreed. “It couldn’t have been you. Maybe it just spread to your kitchen then,” Sansa suggested, “from someone else’s apartment.” </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.” He could only think of the ripped paper on his walls, shriveling, burning. </p><p> </p><p>She began to take off her robe. There was only a nightshirt underneath, he realized, just a nightshirt, barely going past her thighs. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor took off his shoes and set them by her door. </p><p> </p><p>She was going back to her bed, very nearly crawling back in when he reached out and caught her hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he began, and she leaned into him, waiting. There was too much fucking light in here, he thought, almost unable to gather himself as he looked into her pretty blue eyes. “I...” he shuddered when he thought of the flames, bracing his body against hers for a moment to catch his balance. “I went out into the hall... to get my drawing— <em>your</em> drawing— off of the wall, but... when I went to grab it,” his eyes began to glaze over, his vision waning, “I pulled it too hard, and it... Well, it... ripped. I still have... a piece of it, but the rest is... obviously burned by now.” </p><p> </p><p>“The picture I drew of you?” she asked, mirroring her hands on his arms. “Sandor, I don’t care about that picture— I care about you.” She said it like it was <em>nothing </em>when that drawing was one of the most valuable things that he owned. “Your apartment was on fire,” she emphasized, “I’m only glad that you got out, Sandor. I don’t care about a drawing; I’ll make you another one if that’s what you’re so worried about.” Her fingers toyed with the excess fabric of his sweatshirt. </p><p> </p><p>“I almost... didn’t,” he said numbly, staring down at her. </p><p> </p><p>“You what?” </p><p> </p><p>“I almost <em>didn’t</em> get out,” he breathed. “I almost didn’t leave— I was so... I couldn’t move, I couldn’t <em>breathe</em>— I was dreaming about fire, and then I woke up and there it was in my fucking kitchen.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Sandor.” She stroked the mangled part of his jaw, staring up at him with an alarming tenderness in her eyes, and then, “I love you,” she said, her cheeks going red, “a lot.” </p><p> </p><p>His heart stopped. It just, <em>stopped</em>. And for a very long moment there was nothing— no movement, no sensation, and he wondered numbly when the last time he’d heard someone say that to him. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing. He thought, curiously, what a strange thing it was for her to say to him out loud right then, when he so eagerly awaited her scorn— what a strange thing it was for her to say to him at all, for <em>anyone</em> to deliver that obscure, meaningless notion to him. It was almost laughable! And then— that thought made him wonder, was it some sort of joke? Unlikely so; Sansa didn’t appreciate jokes like that, and neither did he.</p><p> </p><p>He was thinking all of that, mind already muddled with the overwhelming events of the night, when her fingers clasped around his, and the touch brought him back and suddenly there was everything. Too much— His heart was beating again— too fast. A moment ago it had been completely still and now it was going to explode right inside of his chest, or perhaps it already had, and that’s what this was. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s mouth fell open in shock. He leaned down to kiss her, unable to formulate a single coherent thought. </p><p> </p><p>He broke the kiss after a moment, pressing his forehead to hers and tucking his arms around her waist. He thought of the incomparable fondness he regarded for her— the person whom he cared most about in the world! The person who blew out the tabletop candles at the restaurants and asked if they could be replaced with fake ones. The person who tucked his hair behind his ruin of an ear and smiled at his horrible scars and said that he was really very handsome. </p><p> </p><p>She brought him food and sent handwritten love letters to his house for no reason and asked his advice on things he really had no idea about. She answered his calls at one in the morning when he was having nightmares or anxiety attacks and sang him lullabies over the phone— and she was the only person for whom he did the exact same, whenever necessary. He put on her favorite music when she came over and made her favorite teas for her, and gave her his favorite clothes and cuddled her when she was sad and uncertain. And she was always there to do the same. She was the person who did everything for him, and for whom he would do anything. She made him comfortable, and safe, and <em>happy</em>, and <em>nothing</em>— nothing on this miserable speck of a planet— could beat that incredible, earth-shattering feeling. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Sandor said back, nodding as he choked on the words that he was dreadfully unaccustomed to. He wiped tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall and placed another very tentative kiss on her salty lips. </p><p> </p><p>And then they began to flood. </p><p> </p><p>They held each other for a long, sweet few minutes. Eventually she helped him take off his outer clothes, and they climbed into her bed, their limbs quickly tangling under the sea of blankets. Sandor let out a sigh of relief. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa reached over to turn the switch on the lamp, leaving them in a blackness that comforted him, and then they were in each other’s arms again. </p><p> </p><p>“My apartment... was on fire,” he said out loud, for the most part just now registering what that all meant. “All of my things are gone.” It was... unbelievable. Literally, unbelievable. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she said, and he heard the pained empathy in her voice and knew her sorrow to be true. “You don’t know that everything is gone,” Sansa reassured. “They could’ve put the fire out early enough, and a ton of your stuff could’ve been saved.” </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.” </p><p> </p><p>“Everything will be okay, you’ll see. We’ll go together, tomorrow, okay? You said the fire was in your kitchen? I’m sure they extinguished it before anything in your bedroom could burn.” </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you’re right,” Sandor said, wanting to believe it was true. “I guess it’s not all bad, I fucking hated that apartment. If only my car started on fire, too,” he laughed, which quickly turned into a choke. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s fingers found his hair and twisted up into it. “You did hate it, didn’t you?” He could hear the smile in her voice and feel it against his neck. </p><p> </p><p>“I guess I didn’t need to get you that key after all,” said Sandor. “Is it okay if I stay here for a little while?” </p><p> </p><p>“You mean so I can have you in my bed all the time?” she teased. “Of course you can stay here. But I’ve been thinking, maybe we could just rent out one of my dad’s apartments.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s heart stopped. “Hmm?” </p><p> </p><p>She leaned onto one elbow, placing her free hand across his chest, electrifying his skin. “I know it’s a big step, but we do have sleepovers a few times a week now, anyway. And my dad would let us live somewhere really nice for a discount. And we could get a dog!” Sansa squealed in delight at the thought. </p><p> </p><p>“A dog?” Sandor asked, nearly unable to process the words coming out of her mouth. An apartment, for them to share, and be together all the time... and watch movies, and bake cookies, and defile every room with their lovemaking over and over. In a much nicer, cleaner apartment than his own. No more broken electronic doorman. No more fuzzy lighting and drywall patches and weird smells. No more thirty-minute drives to see each other. No more annoying tenants— okay, well maybe there’d still be annoying tenants, but this way him and Sansa could talk shit about them together. And he didn’t even have to ask; <em>she</em> had asked!</p><p> </p><p>“We could name her Princess. Or Fluffy,” she beamed. </p><p> </p><p>“I want that,” Sandor breathed. </p><p> </p><p>“Which one? Princess or Fluffy? We could always have two dogs, but I think we should start with one. Or maybe even a cat, since they’re more independent and we won’t have to worry about leaving it at home alone.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Home</em>. His heart was beating madly, so loudly and quickly that he didn’t think it could ever slow down. </p><p> </p><p>“Or, you, know, one of each! I think I want our dog to be named Fluffy, and our cat, Princess.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa— stop,” he grabbed onto her arms. “I want that,” he said, tracing up her wrists to hold her hands in his. “I want to live with you. I want to have a dog named Fluffy and a cat named Princess, and I want our coats to hang on the same rack, and our toothbrushes to be in the same holder. I want your art to hang on the walls... and I want a tacky brush mat at our door that says <em>Welcome, </em>and a big dog bed for our pets, and for us to always sleep in the same bed.” Out of breath, he gasped. “I love you,” Sandor said. “I want this. I want you.” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa stared at him for a moment, mouth open, eyes starry— before her fingers wove delicately through his hair, and she pulled his face to hers. Her cheeks were wet again, Sandor noticed, this time of her own making. His heart melted as their lips touched. </p><p> </p><p>One of her hands found his hip and a sigh escaped him; their passionate talk of living together had left him with a deep ache, that, and her <em>I love you</em>. Her I love you had been a lot for him to handle. And the emotional turmoil— between the fire, and the drawing, and being overly tired... Sandor was delirious with want. His boxers strained against her leg and she leaned into him, her hands finding his cheeks first, then traveling to his neck, his shoulder, the middle of his back... </p><p> </p><p>She stopped herself, drawing back. Sandor placed his hand over hers. “Is everything okay?” </p><p> </p><p>He heard her hair brush the pillow as she nodded. “It’s that... I want you as well... right now. But... Well, I sort of... made plans. For us. For the... first time.” </p><p> </p><p>A spike went through his chest when she said she wanted him, and his mouth quirked at her mention of ‘plans’. “What sort of <em>plans</em> did you make, exactly?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well...” Sansa’s feet stirred against his shins. “I can’t tell you. I just... wanted it to be special.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Special?</em> His heart leapt; she was so precious. “You don’t have to do <em>anything</em> to make it special.” He leaned closer for another kiss on the corner of her mouth. “If you want to wait so you can pull off whatever grand gestures are up your sleeve, then we can do that, but you don’t need to do anything to make it <em>special</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Her hand came up to rest against his cheek once more. “I think,” she said, breathing slowly, “that we’ll have a lot of time for a lot of special nights when we live together, and for now... I think this is special enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s heart raced— this was really happening. Right now. At nearly four in the morning, an hour after he’d been in a burning building, forty-five minutes after he’d ripped her drawing off the wall, twenty minutes after their <em>I love you</em>s and only a few minutes after their plans made to live together. </p><p> </p><p>He swallowed, nodding at her though she could only hear him. Sandor squeezed her hand. </p><p> </p><p>She shifted her head closer to his on the pillow, her nose brushing his, and then her lips. Her hand fell to the side of his neck and she ran her thumb carefully across his throat, nearly in time with her feet as they continued to stir.  </p><p> </p><p>Sandor slid his arm around her waist, trying to relax even a little through the throb in his boxers. Her hand slid past his shoulder and over his back, tracing and caressing as she travelled further down, past his waist, over his hip, and finally on the back of his leg, drawing them closer. </p><p> </p><p>He brought his hand in the opposite direction, dragging up the narrow part of her back, up her shoulder blades, alongside her neck and cheek, all to push her hair out of her face; to feel it splayed over his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he breathed. She brushed her lips over his again. “I don’t have any... protection.” He felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t he brought anything, anyway? Why didn’t he have any condoms? For the longest time he didn’t buy them because obviously he wasn’t going to be with anyone, so it was really just a waste of money— but he and Sansa had been dating for months now, and that should’ve indicated to him that maybe he should’ve been carrying around condoms for situations like these. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he <em>had</em> bought some for himself a while back, but currently they were somewhere in his nightstand, burning or not. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa snickered shortly against his mouth, cutting herself off under the ruse of clearing her throat because, he could only assume, he was ‘touchy’ when she laughed at him. “I have condoms,” she whispered, “but—“ </p><p> </p><p>Sandor waited. “But?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m clean,” she said, as if he suspected anything to the contrary, “and on the pill... but if it’s all right with you, can you wear one anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he panted, placing a kiss against her neck, feeling the heat of his breath wash him again.</p><p> </p><p>With her hand still on the back of his thigh, she ground her hips against his and at the contact, even through their clothes, he felt a ball of warmth form in his middle. He slid his hands under the hem of her nightshirt, pushing it up to her waist and grazing her sides and the narrow part of her back with his fingertips along the way. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa let out a small breath at his touch, and pride— <em>and</em> arousal— sent an ache through his center. He allowed himself, carefully, to shift over her, adjusting his stance as she moved her legs apart beneath him. </p><p> </p><p>The room was thickly black now, and there was no perceptible sound in range aside from the intimate conversation of their lips and the muffled rustling of the sheets as they tangled together. </p><p> </p><p>There were moments where she’d burst into a giggle fit (no doubt a result of their senseless, irrational four-am chatter), and he was powerless to keep himself from sharing her laughter. And then they’d remember how late it was and that there were other people in the house and they’d do their best to shut the hell up, ultimately to little avail.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s fist weaved through his hair, stopping at the scalp, and she drew his face to her neck, encouraging him to please her while she caressed him everywhere that her hands could reach. One of his own hands, whose forearm kept his weight braced, rested beside her head, toying with the silky locks of her hair, while the other traced lines over her shoulder and neck and arm through the fabric of her shirt. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s hips came up abruptly to grind against his, and Sandor gave an involuntary shudder at the friction. Her hand groped at his lower back and hip and the back of his leg, and then her very soft fingertips were poking beneath the waistband of his boxers, just enough for him to feel it and lean into her with want.</p><p> </p><p>Sandor brought himself back a little, reaching down and taking her nightshirt into his fists. “Is this—“</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she breathed, both of their voices half an octave lower through labored whispering. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa leaned up on her elbows, and he placed his fingers on her arms and helped her up to sit. </p><p> </p><p>The nightshirt came over her head easily. He let it fall in front of the nightstand, knowing that she’d want to put it back on for bed… whenever that was going to be. Coffee at three-thirty in the morning had been one of her worse ideas, but Sandor knew that she had done it to stay awake for him— a thought that would’ve overwhelmed him at any other hour, if only he wasn’t so fucking horny. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” she said, the bed creaking as she reached over to a drawer in her nightstand. He listened as her fingers shuffled around, catching his breath while he waited, and then the drawer closed. Sansa thrust a little square into his hand. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor took a deep breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes even though he couldn’t see a damned thing; he couldn’t bear the little wispies tickling his cheekbone anymore. He moved back to his knees, his leg alongside Sansa’s hip while he tentatively dug his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and pushed them off. They came off his feet awkwardly and he immediately lost track of them in the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s hand trailed up the back of his leg absentmindedly as he tore open the little square package. </p><p> </p><p>“Stop that,” he said, her small touches making the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. </p><p> </p><p>“Does it tickle?” she asked, her fingers stilling.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa giggled and he rolled his eyes. She dropped her hand down to the inside of his knee, which tickled him a lot more... in a different way. </p><p> </p><p>He placed one of his hands over the fingers she pressed to his knee; the other he used to graze over her stomach. The lacy edges of her underwear caught under his fingertips, and she leaned her hips up for him to pull them down. They disappeared somewhere in the bed as his had. </p><p> </p><p>She reached for his hip and he settled over her very carefully. This was <em>not</em> how he thought this was going to go.</p><p> </p><p>Sandor weaved his arms under hers, trying to relax as he laid his head against Sansa’s shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>It was so exciting to be this close to her, he thought. Since they’d been together Sandor’s life had been filled with more cuddles than he could count (some of which were shirtless cuddles, which were always very nice), but this was... a lot more than cuddling. This was their <em>I love you</em>s— their plans to share more time and space and to do everything they wanted to do with each other... and to not be alone anymore. Sandor didn’t want to be alone anymore. The mere flicker of such a possibility was a euphoric thing to fantasize about, and it was all that Sandor could think of as he kissed her where he knew she liked to be kissed. </p><p> </p><p>He nearly didn’t notice Sansa pushing on his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor,” she dug her fingernails into his skin, breathless, and the sting pulled him off of her. </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he moved to a hover. “Are you okay?” he stammered, terrified by the notion that he’d done something very wrong. </p><p> </p><p>Her arms fell away from him and she turned slightly in the bed. “Can we turn on the lights?” she asked, and her tone made a miserable feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor reached over for the small remote on her nightstand, and with a soundless click, the string lights over their heads lit up, the color of raspberries. </p><p> </p><p>He moved off of her, kneeling beside her legs while a pile of blankets curled around him.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa moved onto her elbows, her eyes big. She looked… <em>scared</em>, he thought, and the realization made him want to cry. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” he asked again. “Was it me?— did I… hurt you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she shook her head, “no it’s not you,” and he wasn’t sure if he should believe her by the look on her face. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa sat up. She gave herself a long moment to breathe, and then leaned forward into his arms. “It’s not because of you,” she said. “I just… I didn’t like not being able to see you. I need to see you, I <em>want</em> to see you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Did something happen—”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I just got nervous. I haven’t… been with anyone since… my ex, and,” she breathed, and he felt her shiver beneath where his hand rested on hers. “With the lights off… and not being able to see you— I’d just feel a lot more comfortable with them on.” </p><p> </p><p>He pulled her hand to his lips and laid kisses on her fingers. While she’d pulled one of the blankets up to her waist, her chest was still completely exposed. Sandor tried not to stare at her. “If you’re nervous,” he said, running his thumb over her knuckles, “then we should wait. I don’t want you to be afraid.” He could handle waiting a while longer if that’s what she needed; he would not be able to handle hurting her. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” she said, almost pleading as she grabbed onto his arm. “I don’t want to wait any longer. I want this,” she traced a line over his jaw with the back of her finger and Sandor let out a fragmented exhale, “with you. I just need to see you. Is that okay?” </p><p> </p><p>He bit the tip of his tongue, working to hold back a sigh. Her seeing him like this was the exact opposite of what he wanted. It was so much easier in the dark, so much less... personal. There would be so much less exposure, and that way he wouldn’t be afraid. But this was something that she was struggling with, and it wasn’t going away, and how could he say no to that? She needed to see him. And he probably needed to see her, too, even though it made him very nervous. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he nodded, “that’s okay.” </p><p> </p><p>She opened her arms, lips parted as she beckoned him closer to her. The nakedness of her chest under the raspberry lights sent a spike through his stomach, and his breath hitched as wrapped his arms around her waist. </p><p> </p><p>***** </p><p> </p><p>Sansa laid her cheek against the pillow beside his, her sweaty hand finding his hip.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what he did with the wrapper but she wagered that he probably just chucked it off somewhere in the bed like he did with other miscellaneous wrappers when he didn’t want to get up. The whole point of him wearing it was to minimize the mess, but if he was throwing trash around her bed that wasn’t minimizing the mess exactly, was it?   </p><p> </p><p>When his fingers found her she concluded that it had been a good idea to wait longer than she’d initially wanted to, back when they first got together. At that time, she’d been rushing to replace bad memories with good ones; hoping to forget ingenuine compliments and kisses that didn’t feel quite right. And Sandor’s gentleness and thoughtfulness and genuity (<em>and</em> his physique— she couldn’t deny that there had been some attraction to the physique)— those were just… things that ensured her that she was making the right decisions. </p><p> </p><p>But obviously they weren’t the right decisions if she was having panic attacks the first time they completely undressed with each other. They weren’t the right choices if after months of not seeing or hearing from Joffrey, she was still thinking about him violating her while Sandor’s hands only caressed her as gently and carefully as anyone could. </p><p> </p><p><em>This</em> was the right choice, Sansa knew: Sandor who didn’t always say the right thing, but who was always honest. Sandor who threw hissy fits when people took too long to cross the street, but who ugly-cried during dog movies. Sandor who pretended not to get annoyed when she went on hour-long rants about television relationships, and who analyzed them with her. Sandor who gave her flowers with missing petals, and who didn’t mind driving for her at night, and who surrendered his favorite clothes to her. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor who said it was okay to have the lights on, even though she knew he wasn’t quite over what a certain idiot coworker had said, because she needed it more than he did. That was the right choice, and she was very comfortable with it. She just needed to see him, that was all. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa lifted her leg over his hip and helped herself on top of him, pulling the blanket over her back. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s mouth fell slightly open, his eyes big pools of silver, tinted pink in the light. She placed a finger on his bottom lip and watched as a lump fell down his throat. Her other hand landed on his shoulder, weaving into the tips of his charcoal hair while he traced little lines on the backs of her legs. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you mind if I’m on top?” she asked very quietly, hoping he’d say he didn’t mind because she needed that, too. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he breathed, glancing at the lights above him nervously. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa touched his cheek with one hand, the other brushing behind his ear. She ran the tip of her finger over his nose, his cheekbone, eyebrow, jaw. “You can close your eyes,” she said, “if you need to.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor shook his head, fine black hair splaying across the pillow. “I think that I need to see you as well,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment she thought she was going to cry, because she loved him and they were going to live together, because he’d gone through something scary and horrible tonight, because it was past four in the morning now and she couldn’t think straight and there was caffeine in her bloodstream, and because he was so perfect. Sansa dropped her head down to kiss him, shivering in delight when his hands travelled past her bottom, up her waist, over her chest. </p><p> </p><p>She reached down between them, groping under the blankets until she came into contact with gooey latex. Sandor hitched a breath at the sensation, his fingers clenching around her when her center touched him. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa kissed the side of his neck. She’d been so determined to make this special with grand gestures that she knew he’d roll his eyes at, but he was right— this already was special. It was special because he was there, just the two of them and no one else. No one else. </p><p> </p><p>One of her hands weaved into his, the other planting itself on his middle. She was careful to be slow as she let herself down on him— despite there definitely being enough lubrication between her core and their protection— knowing that it was going to be overwhelming for both of them. </p><p> </p><p>A low, raspy sound escaped him when they joined, but he bit his lip before it could completely emerge, shutting his eyes although he said he didn’t want to. Feeling although a similar sound might escape her at the delightful friction, Sansa caught his mouth with hers. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s fingers wound around her hair and he held her to him, breathing hard as their bodies touched everywhere. One of his hands slid up and down her back, over her arms, his fingers touching her nose, her cheek, her chest. The other grazed down her side, over her stomach. His eyes peered open timidly, seeking reassurance that all was well before pushing his fingers between her legs. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa bowed her back in bliss, laying her head against his shoulder and relaxing into the luxury of their gentle, heated touches. What he was doing with his fingers made her feel like she was going to fall asleep right there and dream only of his hands, his gray eyes and soft lips, and it would’ve been good enough. It would’ve been perfect.  </p><p> </p><p>He drew his knees up and the fronts of his thighs came up against her bottom. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” she whispered to his stubby ear, placing her hand on his chest and warming further as she felt his heart pound through his skin. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s arm wrapped around her, squeezing her into a fevered embrace as he panted brokenly against her shoulder. She moved her hips a little, just a few small movements before he let out a stark gasp and shuddered beneath her. His back arched up slightly, and his fingers stilled between her legs, twitching every few seconds. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa pulled her face back from his neck and held herself above him on her arms. She watched as his eyes drifted open, moving her fingers to his scalp and brushing his pretty hair back. Her smile was soft, and when his gaze fell to it, his eyes melted into little gray puddles with pink dots bouncing off of the surface from her lights. It was when she stroked his leathery scars with her fingertips, when she pushed his carefully placed hair back from his burned scalp— that was when she’d done it. </p><p> </p><p>His mouth fell open and his lip began to tremble. He bit it. Though when his eyes glossed over with wetness, closing them did not stop his tears from leaking out and soaking into her pillows. </p><p> </p><p>She leaned down for another kiss where his mouth quivered beneath hers, his lips unable to retain the fervor that they possessed just moments ago. Her nose brushed his and their brows touched, and then Sansa’s eyes nearly welled up with tears as well, even more overwhelmed than she thought she’d be by making love with someone as tender as she was, who loved her just as much. Someone clean, and caring, and who never wanted to hurt her. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa let out a deep sigh and unhooked her body from his, rolling to the side. At least now she was tired, she thought, letting her thighs fall open and laying back against a floral pillow with her arm against Sandor’s. </p><p> </p><p>She stared at him as he sat up slowly, watching the muscles on his arms and back move as he stretched. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, and then he pushed the blankets off of him. There was a slippery, squishy noise, and then he was reaching over to the nightstand. </p><p> </p><p>“No!” Sansa gasped, tapping his arm. “Trash,” she said, “and wherever you put the wrapper, too.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor turned, making a point to sigh exasperatedly before stretching forward across the bed, groping blindly in the blankets as he searched. </p><p> </p><p>“I knew it! Gross!” Sansa laughed, nearly forgetting that they were supposed to be quiet. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not gross,” he argued. </p><p> </p><p>“You were going to put it on my <em>nightstand</em>! It’s… <em>dirty</em>,” she complained.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I see the wrapper,” he leaned forward a little more, stretching to the foot of the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa glanced down at his lower back, staring at the slight curve between his waist and hip. But there was something on his skin that shouldn’t have been there. A dark spot, a little smaller than the size of a dime. At first she thought that maybe it was a bug, and she yelped and swatted at it, but it didn’t move. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor only jumped, turning to look back at her in shock. “Can I help you?” he asked sarcastically. </p><p> </p><p>There was another spot, she noticed, the same size, a few inches away. And another, a little lower. </p><p> </p><p>“You have something on your back,” she said, looking closer. </p><p> </p><p>“What? Where?” Sandor craned his neck, trying impossibly to look over his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s by your hip,” said Sansa, “above your butt. I’ll get the light,” she leaned towards the lamp on the nightstand. </p><p> </p><p>“No!” he spun around, pulling a blanket up to his chest and leaving Sansa wide-eyed and confused. He looked over his shoulder again, stroking his skin before mumbling an <em>oh.</em> </p><p> </p><p>“Do you… know what it is?” </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t say anything. </p><p> </p><p>“Well…?” Sansa pulled her blanket over her shoulders, feeling a draft all of the sudden. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered. </p><p> </p><p>That seemed to get him, although that lonely, defeated expression in his eyes wasn’t what she was going for at all. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor let his blanket lower, only a little. “It’s a… cigarette,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Well now she was really confused. “A what?” </p><p> </p><p>He swallowed, glancing in the other direction for a moment. “It’s from a cigarette. They all are.” </p><p> </p><p>She moved closer to him, feeling sick. “Someone <em>did</em> this to you? Was it your… brother?” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor shook his head, taking a long moment before speaking. “My dad. His go-to when we misbehaved. Or a cat of nine tails. Whatever it was, I always got it worse. He liked Gregor more than me, because he was older and he didn’t care as much. Or maybe my dad was scared of him, I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. Spent long enough caring, that’s for sure.” He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, though he wasn’t crying this time. </p><p> </p><p><em>For heaven’s sake,</em> Sansa thought, <em>was everyone in his family so horrible?</em> “May I look at them?” she asked timidly. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Please?” asked Sansa, wondering how bad it could be for him to freeze up like this.</p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled his hands away from his face. “I don’t want you to see them,” he said, curling into himself regretfully. “Don’t you get it? I don’t <em>want</em> you to see them.”</p><p> </p><p>Her heart stopped. Is that why— is that why he didn’t want to undress? Why he never wanted to undress in the light, why it was always such a big deal? Not because of Tormund, but because he didn’t want her to know about these marks? About the extent of his abuse…? </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor,” she said gently, placing her hand over his, “he should’ve been arrested.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he wasn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“You know that… I wouldn’t… <em>judge</em> you… not for something like this. Not for something that isn’t your fault— that happened to you when you were a little boy. Nothing on the outside would ever make you ugly to me,” she said. “I promise. Maybe... I can try to make this better.” </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t make <em>everything</em> better,” he said, the defeated expression in his tone now as well as his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Humor me,” Sansa smiled gently, twirling her fingers into one of the blanket’s edges. “Let me try.” </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” he frowned, not caring to pretend like he wanted anything in the world less than this.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” She leaned towards the nightstand once more. The bed creaked as she gestured to her lamp. “May I?”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor shrugged, already obviously displeased that he’d agreed to this. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa flicked the switch and they both squeezed their eyes shut at the bright invasion, though the difference for him was that he was shaking, his fingers wound tightly around his blanket. </p><p> </p><p>She scrambled to offer him a comforting touch, resting her hands delicately on his arms. “It’s okay,” she said, “don’t be scared.” A part of her really wanted to call it off and say that it was okay, and they would just go to sleep and not talk about it again, but that was impossible. They couldn’t spend their whole lives in the dark, Sansa wouldn’t— she wouldn’t go her whole life with him without ever seeing him without clothes on, that just wasn’t fair for either of them. He needed this as much as she did, Sansa thought— he needed to know that there was nothing wrong with him! Not his face, and not his body! </p><p> </p><p>The only disgust that she had was for his family, that they could hurt another person like they had— repeatedly! A whole childhood riddled with pain and abuse. Sansa held her breath. She curled her fingers around the edges of the blanket and pulled it down gently. His eyes were still closed, but he didn’t protest. </p><p> </p><p>The light wasn’t the best in the room, but immediately she could see the marks on his skin. Pale, sporadic little lines on his skin where the cat of nine tails must’ve struck over and over. </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor,” she whispered, tipping closer to the edge of losing it with each <em>x</em> across his chest that she saw. Sansa pushed him gently to lay back down. He let her, not very happy about it but not having much of a choice. </p><p> </p><p>She pulled the blanket back, drawing it over his chest and down his stomach and leaving it to rest at his hips. As his hip line was exposed, however, a pale red circle came into view… and another, as she moved the blanket… and another. They looked like bug bites... or chicken pox scars. They were... everywhere! Tears spilled from her eyes and she covered her mouth with one hand. They peppered his hips and the lower part of his stomach, and some of them were even connected, like an egg with two yolks. There were so many, she wanted to scream. </p><p> </p><p>There were so many, how could she not have <em>noticed</em>? Sansa ran her finger over one of them; he didn’t flinch. It was completely flat, and nearly invisible in the dark. </p><p> </p><p>“Why are they all down here?” she asked, running her forefinger over each of them featherlightly. </p><p> </p><p>“No one would see them,” he said, looking up at the pink lights with clear discomfort visible on his face. “The nurses at school would never have asked me to pull down my pants.” </p><p> </p><p>“But the whiplashes—”  </p><p> </p><p>“That was after. Eventually he stopped caring,” he shrugged, staring at the ceiling with apathy. </p><p> </p><p>There was a numbness in his voice that she didn’t like at all, and she really began to wish she’d never asked him to do this. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa leaned down and placed her lips on a cluster of red circles on his lower stomach. Her heart ached to think about him being hurt by people that he was supposed to trust, people who were supposed to love and take care of him. She knew what it was like to be mistreated, but the thought of her victimizer being her own <em>father</em> or <em>sibling</em>, and her being just a little girl— it was unfathomable that anyone could do something this heinous to a child! </p><p> </p><p>She placed another kiss on his warped, red skin. When she looked up at him, he was up on his elbows, watching nervously as she kissed his stomach. She planted another small, soft kiss on a burn, and then another, and then another until he relaxed again and laid back down. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “I don’t have much pillow-talk experience, but I can only assume that this isn’t standard. It’s fine by me if you just want to come back up here and cuddle.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re so perfect, Sandor,” she ran a hand over his chest. “I love you so much.” </p><p> </p><p>He looked back down at her from the head of the bed and his eyes washed out in relief. It was the third time she’d said it tonight and it just felt lovelier each time. So good to be able to say it, for him to know that it was true… and for her to hear him say it back to her. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa would’ve beamed at the joy of requited love with someone as wonderful as him if they were experiencing any other moment than this one; if she weren’t looking at a map of trauma and abuse on his skin. Instead, she did her best to act like the scars meant nothing to her, without being insensitive, of course. Sandor did <em>not</em> like pity, but he didn’t want to be ignored, either. </p><p> </p><p>She kissed and kissed. She wanted to cry, she <em>really</em> wanted to cry… but she held herself together, looking at each pale white <em>x</em> and cigarette burn, trying not to think about the overt horror of receiving each and every one of these terrible lacerations as she laid her lips upon him.</p><p> </p><p>His hands travelled down the bed and weaved into hers where they idly stroked his hips. “Come here,” said Sandor. The warmth had crept back into his face and it delighted her. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa laid across him, closing her eyes when his arms tightened around her middle. He reached over and flicked the lamp off. </p><p> </p><p>“I like seeing you,” she said. “Without a shirt. I like it.” </p><p> </p><p>He grabbed the little black remote on the nightstand and flicked the pink lights off as well, and then they were in darkness. His arms tightened around her and he laid his head against her shoulder. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” said Sandor. “I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>She kissed him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello guys, next chapter was supposed to be the last chap, but since I didn’t get through everything I wanted to get through in this chapter, there may be two more. Not sure yet. </p><p>Clarification that in this story, there’s instances of imagery of Sansa associating Joffrey’s abuse with her body/sexuality (esp in this chapter), but in this case it’s not literal sexual abuse that she’s remembering. It’s a situation where he was quite emotionally abusive, and she’s associating it in a way that has damaged her self-worth, sexual comfort, and overall mental stability. That accounts for a lot of her behavior as far as being guilty about trivial things, rushing her sexual relationship with Sandor along, and trying to overcompensate. I should have mentioned that ages ago, like back at the first chapter of this p2, but I didn’t— very sorry— here’s that note now. </p><p>Specific notes about Sandor in this chap:<br/>- I think it’s relatively common in fics that Sandor doesn’t say “I love you” lol ? but that does <em>not</em> fly around here. Gotta give as good as you get, and if she says she loves you three times in the same night you have to say it at LEAST once (if not all three times+) thanks.<br/>- Also, the cigarette burns/cat of nine tails decision, that’s just a modern parallel I added since modern!sandor doesn’t have westerosi baggage of going around collecting scars from combat— although I’m not doubtful that he experienced a lot more childhood trauma than just the canonical burning. That’s my hc for sandor in all aus, so it accounts for him in all of my writing &lt;3</p><p>thanks for reading! be well x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Pheromone Mystery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Waffle-berry boats! Emerald. Apartment visits and revisits. The Pheromone Mystery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was nearly noon when Sansa woke up. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t say that she hadn’t earned that by going to bed past four in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s heavy arm clung around her middle, his forehead against her shoulder. She lifted his arm slightly and wiggled around to face him. </p><p> </p><p>At some point before bed they’d pulled their clothes back on, and his old boxers were soft against her thighs, but she already missed the intimacy of skin-on-skin. Sansa curled her arm under his, around his back, weaving her fingertips up into the ends of his hair. </p><p> </p><p>He huffed at the motion, still asleep, stretching his legs out with an easy tremble. His arm twitched against hers, and he searched unconsciously for a place to lay his head now that she’d moved. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa poked him in the chest and his eyes fluttered open sluggishly. </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” she said. “You snore.” </p><p> </p><p>His feet stirred, calves shifting against her toes. He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“You do,” said Sansa, “like the engine from a car made in the thirties. Your throat sounds like rust, is what I’m trying to say.” </p><p> </p><p>“There were no cars in the thirties,” he argued. “Also, fuck off.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sure there were,” she traced lines down his back and his eyes closed again. “It’s okay. I didn’t even notice until I woke up.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course you didn’t. If you did, you wouldn’t need to set four alarms in the morning,” Sandor caressed her shoulder sweetly, leaning into her touch. “It’s a good thing you don’t live alone.” </p><p> </p><p>“Neither do you, anymore,” Sansa smiled. He smiled back. “I’m surprised I didn’t wake up earlier. I know I set my alarms,” she pondered. </p><p> </p><p>“I turned them off hours ago.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sandor! It’s <em>noon!</em>” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t scoff at me,” Sandor mumbled. “One of us is a light sleeper and the other is you. Normal people don’t set out to wake up at seven in the morning on weekends.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a light sleeper,” Sansa tapped his arm, “you slept through a <em>smoke alarm</em> yesterday.” </p><p> </p><p>“If I slept through it, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” He yawned. “I’m a lighter sleeper than you, that’s for sure.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor,” she groaned, stirring restlessly. “We’ve missed the entire morning! I’m sure breakfast is long gone by now.” </p><p> </p><p>“You said it was noon, didn’t you? Then we’re just in time for lunch.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not funny!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sort of funny,” Sandor snuggled closer to her, the contact of his chest on hers flooding her with heat. “We went to bed at five in the morning, Sansa. We needed the sleep. You can go back to getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Just cuddle for now,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa acquiesced, laying her cheek against his and tightening her arm around his waist. The top of his back was freezing with the draft but he didn’t seem to mind. “It wasn’t <em>five</em> in the—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes it was. You took a photo of us on your phone. You can check the timestamp later.” He held her tightly and rolled her over him, onto the other side of the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa weaseled her hand between them and set it on his front, dragging her fingers gently across the hair and feeling a strong sensation in her chest when she heard him emit a sweet sigh at the contact. </p><p> </p><p>He’d slept, as usual, on his left side with his burns pressed to the pillows, curled around Sansa. Though now his scarred side faced up, charred skin on full display in the hard light that flowed in through open curtains.</p><p> </p><p>She pushed his hair back, exposing more burned patches on his scalp and running the tip of her forefinger in circles over them. Sandor shivered, twitching like a sleepy puppy before squeezing her tightly. </p><p> </p><p>“Cover them back,” he groaned, pushing his forehead against hers, eyes still closed as though he were really planning on going back to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to,” said Sansa, untangling loose knots. “You need another haircut,” she observed. “I can do it. I <em>might</em> be able to offer you a reduced price.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he raised his eyebrows, “a reduced price. You’d think that being with a hairdresser would mean having your hair cut for free.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d think that,” she laughed. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes opened and he smiled before shutting them again. “You look pretty when you laugh.” </p><p> </p><p>“You look pretty when you smile.” She ran the tip of her thumb against the edges of his front teeth. “Your teeth aren’t crooked anymore, you know.” </p><p> </p><p>“Cool. My orthodontist has been a dick about it these past few months.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Because you refused to wear your retainer? Or because you chucked it into the garbage disposal?” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor squinted. “Well I’ll be sure not to tell <em>you</em> next time.”</p><p> </p><p>Sansa rolled her eyes. “We have to get up, Sandor. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” he mumbled, “but I don’t want to let you go.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re just getting something to eat, my love. And then we can come back and cuddle for longer. Maybe put on a movie or something.” </p><p> </p><p>He waited, knees grinding against hers for a few minutes until her belly emitted a long, desperate growl. “Fine,” Sandor sat up with a sigh, chuckling at the sounds of her stomach as an afterthought, “let’s get food.”</p><p> </p><p>He changed into a shirt and a pair of pajama pants, and Sansa pulled on pajama pants under her shirt. </p><p> </p><p>They walked out into the hall, small steps that felt exquisitely different now that her bedroom was temporarily<em> her</em> <em>and Sandor’s room</em>, a notion that exhilarated Sansa even further when she acknowledged that soon they’d be living somewhere else, sharing a room that was really, equally for the two of them. Half of his things on one side and hers on the other… or all of their things intermingled, she wasn’t sure yet. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s feet were heavy on the stairs, each step creaking as they descended. Surely everyone in the house heard them, she thought, wondering how she was going to tell her parents that he didn’t have anywhere to go and would have to stay with them for a while. Or about her moving out!— If they’d be sad, or excited for her, or concerned about whether she was moving too quickly with Sandor. Once she moved out it was just going to be Arya, Bran and Rickon. Sansa wondered if Bran would move into her room, like she’d moved into Robb’s. </p><p> </p><p>She turned the corner into the kitchen, Sandor following on her tail. Robb and Bran were passionately engaged in conversation on the couch while her dad was tinkering with the coffee pot. Through the kitchen window she could see her mom and Rickon outside. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor gestured across the hall, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa nodded. “Toaster waffles okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” he shrugged, heading towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>She turned around, knocking straight into Jon before she realized what hit her. His foot squashed her toe at the contact and they both yelped. </p><p> </p><p>“Ow,” said Jon. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ow!</em>” she repeated, narrowing her eyes at him. “You stepped on <em>me!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You</em> crashed into <em>me!</em> Watch yourself next time.”</p><p> </p><p>Sansa gave him a dirty look and took a step to move past him, nursing her squashed toe. </p><p> </p><p>Jon caught her by the arm, leaning in and looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one else could hear, namely their father. “By the way, the next time you pull an all-nighter with Sandor, maybe you could keep it down.” </p><p> </p><p>She felt herself go hot. “What do you—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in the room right next to yours, Sansa.” </p><p> </p><p>Technically it was the guest room he was staying in, though she didn’t think it was the proper moment to debate the specifics. She wondered if he had... heard them... “Were we loud?” she whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Jon raised his eyebrows. “I’d be surprised if the whole second fucking floor didn’t hear you.”</p><p> </p><p>Sansa covered her mouth in horror, “You’re joking.” </p><p> </p><p>“I wish.”  He started to walk away. </p><p> </p><p>She went to the freezer, still struck with horror at what Jon had said, and pulled out the toaster waffles. Her dad was standing right there and she walked up to him, a fistful of waffles in her palm. </p><p> </p><p>“Dad,” said Sansa, pushing the first four waffles into the toaster, “can I talk to you for a minute?” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he said. “What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor’s flat started on fire yesterday…” she began, “so I was hoping he could stay here for a little while. And… we were thinking about moving in together, in one of your apartments.”</p><p> </p><p>The back door opened and her mom walked into the room. “Sansa,” she said, coming over to pat her on the back, “did you sleep well?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she said, looking over her shoulder to see that Sandor had come out of the bathroom. “I was telling dad that Sandor and I were thinking about moving in together.” </p><p> </p><p>“Moving in together?” her mother raised her eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa nodded, biting her lip. Sandor’s eyes widened when he realized what they were talking about, and he walked swiftly back in the direction he came from. <em>Wimp</em>, she thought, wishing she didn’t have to suffer through this on her own but also knowing that it would probably be ten times worse for him. “We wanted to move into one of the apartments.” </p><p> </p><p>Her parents looked at each other, sharing some form of miraculous nonverbal communication. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” said her mom, her dad nodding in agreement. </p><p> </p><p>“Obviously we’ll reduce rent. He’s done enough around here to have earned that, don’t you think?” </p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely,” said her mom. “And you deserve it too,, Sansa.” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa leaned in, hoping no one else would hear— especially Sandor, who was most definitely eavesdropping behind the wall. “You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>They looked at each other again, soft expressions on their faces. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think so,” her mother said, a gentle smile tugging her lips. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll only be moving twenty minutes away, Sansa. If it happens to be that the two of you can’t live together, you know you’ll be able to move back.” </p><p> </p><p>“I guess you’re right,” Sansa nodded. It was only going to be twenty minutes away after all, but she didn’t like to think of the possibility that her and Sandor might not do well living together. </p><p> </p><p>They smiled at her and went off to the living room together. Sansa grabbed a big plate as she waited for the toaster to <em>ding!</em> and pulled the first batch out. She pushed two more waffles in, turning around to put the box back into the freezer. </p><p> </p><p>A moment later she knocked right into Sandor. His foot caught on hers— the second time to happen to her this morning! He caught her by the arms. </p><p> </p><p>Even with a double-stubbed toe it was hard to keep from grinning. “They said they’ll discount us on rent,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>“I heard,” his hands fell around his shoulders. “I was eavesdropping.”</p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of eavesdropping,” she leaned close to his neck, “Jon told me that he… <em>heard us</em>… last night!” Sansa felt her cheeks go hot. </p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Sandor raised his eyebrows, scars twisting up as he did so. His expression was entirely too smug for her liking. “Couldn’t have been worse than the camping trip.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor, I’m <em>mortified!</em> Why aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“If it was your parents, I’d be mortified.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do if anyone else heard us. I really don’t think they could’ve though, we really couldn’t have been very loud.”</p><p> </p><p>“Soon enough we won’t have to worry about being too loud. It’ll just be us. And Fluffy and Princess.” </p><p> </p><p>“And the other tenants in the building,” Sansa added.  </p><p> </p><p>“Well I don’t care if <em>they</em> hear us, I’m more concerned about our impressionable pets.” </p><p> </p><p>The toaster popped, golden waffles flying up. She turned from Sandor and moved to put them on the plate with the others. They grabbed the syrup and a container of blackberries out of the fridge and fled back to her room. </p><p> </p><p>“I want our neighbors to <em>like</em> us. And that entails not being those people who sound like animals mating on the discovery channel.” </p><p> </p><p>“God, you don’t want us to be friends with them, do you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course I want to be friends with them.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor climbed back under the blankets, and Sansa after him, the plate of waffles and container of blackberries between them in the bed. She glued blackberries to one of her waffles with the maple syrup, folding the cake in half to make a boat and shoving the end into her mouth. Sandor laughed at her at first, but shortly afterwards she saw him doing the same, and they laid on the bed for a long time, eating waffle-berry boats and laughing when the other got syrup stuck to their cheek. They never bothered putting a movie on. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor ran syrup-sticky fingers gently over her neck and collar, their bodies spaced apart too far for her liking. The plate and empty container were at the foot of the bed. </p><p> </p><p>“I have something for you,” he said, climbing over her and out of the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa rolled over onto her back and sat up, her heart beginning to race at the prospect of receiving a gift from him. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor rummaged through his clothes for a moment, a rustling sound as the cloth swished against the wood floor, and he waved his hand for her to go over to him. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa walked over. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t, um, have time to wrap it,” he admitted, and she understood— the fire. </p><p> </p><p>She cupped her hands under his and he turned his fist, opening up his fingers and letting something cold spill into her palms. </p><p> </p><p>A green rock wrapped in strands of gold. It was a necklace, she realized. Sansa ran her fingers over the cool, smooth surface of the stone, her fingers finding a little ridge in the center. The top of the chain rested on Sandor’s middle finger, holding it snug for her to admire as she was. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this—”</p><p> </p><p>“Raw emerald,” Sandor cut in quickly. “Your birthstone. I meant to give it to you sooner but it took longer to finish than I had thought it was going to.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>made</em> this?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded, and she felt the sweat on the inside of his palm. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up at the little silver stars in his eyes. Sansa grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the mirror on the inside of her door. The top of her head was cut out of the reflection from where she’d slathered the first eight inches of the mirror with black paint, precise to match the one Sandor had in his apartment; she didn’t prefer it that way, but it was enough that he did. “Will you put it on me?” she asked, presenting it to him. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s mouth twitched. He took the necklace from her, undoing the clasp with awkwardly dull fingers and pushing her hair aside to circle it around her neck. When he finally got the clasp done again, the green stone came to a rest beneath her collarbones. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa wrapped her fingers around it once more. She leaned back against him, watching herself caress the rock between her collarbones, and his arms looped around her middle. </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Sandor did <em>not</em> want to go back to his apartment, but there they were. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa drove. They took her car— the roomier of the two of theirs— broken-down U-Haul boxes stored in the backseat. </p><p> </p><p>Not only did he not really want her to help him as he disassembled his life in that ugly building, but courtesy of yesterday, when he saw it now, all he could think of was fire. </p><p> </p><p>And it’s not like the memories had been very good <em>before</em> that anyway: escaping to an empty bed after long days of work, takeout dinners for one, tall glass bottles of watermelon Svedka, virtual doorman never buzzing, and his phone just the same. Nearly every single good moment in that second-level flat had been because of Sansa— their movie nights and blanket nests; sharing secrets and kisses on the cheek; fucking up recipes for French food and fighting for the last crepe-jita; taking pictures on her Polaroid in the bathroom and not hating them because she was in them and she was smiling. </p><p> </p><p>And now being back… bending under the short door and running his fingers over the crooked railing, the stairs— which were now covered in KOH03, even though the fire <em>obviously</em> hadn’t been over here— creaking under his feet… he wanted to leave. He wanted to pack up anything that had survived and to be out of there as soon as possible. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa placed her fingers on the knob, turning towards him. “I can go in first,” she offered, “if you want me to. I know your neighbor said that it wasn’t that bad, but just in case…”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor shook his head. Really they weren’t supposed to be there at all— in fact it was an <em>un</em>-fucking-<em>believable</em> liability for the landlord for anyone to be in the building right now. But, he didn’t have the locks changed (<em>surprise, surprise</em>), so really it was just a lawsuit waiting to happen should Sandor plummet through the floor and break both of his legs. Oh well. He wanted his shit, right now, and then hopefully he’d never have to step foot on this miserable fucking piece of roach-infested property again. </p><p> </p><p>She pushed the door open, pulling his key out and handing it to Sandor to stuff in his pocket, and they went in. </p><p> </p><p>The floor was… fine, he realized, stepping in. It was when he looked up at the walls… at the warped, peeling cabinets— his fridge, stove… microwave, all covered in sheets of fluffy whiteness— his breath caught in his throat. </p><p> </p><p><em>Faulty wires</em>, he thought. That’s what the tenant across from him had said. <em>Faulty wires— no fucking wonder</em>. It would’ve been <em>delectable</em> to sue the landlord— Sandor wanted so badly to sue the landlord, and it would’ve been about fucking time— but he couldn’t afford losing a lawsuit, and it wasn’t worth the energy either. Maybe he’d get lucky and one of the other tenants would sue the owner, but for now he just wanted to get out of there. In and out. </p><p> </p><p>His feet froze on the wood panels as he stared at the charred exterior of the cabinets, white residue from the extinguisher lingering on the surface and making him dizzy. The smoke was long gone but he could still smell it like it was there, coming to invade his lungs and strangle him all over again. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s hand came upon the lower part of his back and a shiver through his spine in both directions. “Are you okay?” she asked gently. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor lifted a foot, straining to break the magnetic force between his body and the ground. He nodded his head with what even <em>he</em> knew was poor conviction, pushing forward into the room and shuddering when the wood panels creaked under his feet. It was the same as they always had in that spot, but he couldn’t help agonizing over the possibility that maybe the floor really would collapse from under him. He didn’t have good enough insurance for the hospital bill that accident was going to ring up. They shouldn’t have come here; it was dangerous and stupid yet neither of those facts could make him leave now that he’d made it this far. He didn’t want to have to come back here!— he just wanted it to be <em>over</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor walked carefully out of the kitchen and over to the bedroom door he’d left wide open (an occurrence that happened hardly ever), while Sansa followed behind with a box under her arm. She had also suggested that they wait to go, but seeing as most of the tenants (all but Sandor and the residents beneath him) continued to live in their flats business as usual (the landlord might as well have been <em>praying</em> for a lawsuit), she agreed that they could go today. </p><p> </p><p>He had said that maybe she shouldn’t go in because there was the chance that the damage was actually bad and if so, the structural integrity of the building might be a bit questionable, but Sansa didn’t want him to go in by himself ‘in case he got overwhelmed’, she had said— so they both ultimately went in. </p><p> </p><p>She had been right; the damage hadn’t touched his room. The fire must have been extinguished moments after he’d gone. His eyes shot to the wall, gaze latching desperately onto the remnants of the drawing he’d left behind. Sandor let out an uncontained sigh of relief, reaching out to graze two fingers over the torn paper. He pulled the taped edges from the wall carefully— unconcerned with being quick now that there were no flames left to lick at his cheek— and held onto them protectively. The edges had curled and there was a dusting of soot present, but they were salvageable— they could be taped back.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa followed him into the bedroom, her U-Haul box creating a soft rustle against the hardwoods. “Are we packing up everything today?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have that much,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>She nodded. “I’ll go get the rest of the boxes from the car.” Sansa turned away. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor didn’t waste any time; he didn’t wait to hear the sound of the front door opening and closing before folding the flaps down on the box she’d left in the room and throwing the clothes from his dresser inside frantically. Luckily, he didn’t have an ungodly amount of clothes (unlike someone else he knew), so he was able to fill up one big box with the entirety of his wardrobe and the couple of trinkets atop his chestnut dresser. </p><p> </p><p>The shoes from the closet wouldn’t fit, however— unlikely that it was because he simply had too many of them and more probable that it was because his feet were enormous and the shoes just couldn’t organize properly into the leftover cardboard confines. </p><p> </p><p>There wasn’t really all that much that needed to go. He just didn’t have a lot of stuff. It wasn’t like he could afford the luxuries of having things just to have them, and obviously there was no one buying things <em>for</em> him. He supposed it came as a small victory now. It was a lot easier to pack up if there weren’t many things to pack, and he didn’t like clutter anyway. </p><p> </p><p>The furniture wouldn’t be going today obviously. Sandor could probably get it to the dump by himself next week or so. It was all cheap furniture anyway; things that he’d gotten because he’d needed his living place to be somewhat, well, <em>livable</em>, and not just a bed and some pizza boxes. Not to mention that literally everything Sansa owned was of better quality than literally everything he owned, so it’s not like either of them would be missing out. </p><p> </p><p>What he <em>did</em> want, though, was the pair of accent tables that he’d made long before he’d moved here. He was supposed to get around to painting them eight years ago, but he hadn’t… and now… well, Sandor thought that, maybe Sansa might like to paint them with him. </p><p> </p><p>They could have themes— she <em>loved</em> themes!— or they could watch tutorial videos and draw along… and they could use those accent tables with their two little drawers each as nightstands. Sansa could put her teacups on hers, and her books, her laptop. His heart fluttered at the notion of giving her things that were worthy of use and appreciation. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor leaned against the bedpost, running his fingers over the edges. He wondered if making an accent table was vastly more complicated than making a bed. </p><p> </p><p>The front door opened and closed with a delicate sound. He tore free from distracting thoughts and folded the flaps on the box to make it sealed. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa appeared in the doorway with a stack of disassembled boxes under her arm. She glanced at the box he had on the floor, at the open drawers sticking out of his dresser. “You packed up all of your clothes already?” she asked, disbelief present in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>“I still need somewhere to put my shoes,” he remarked. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, all two pairs?” Sansa raised her eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>“I have more than two pairs,” corrected Sandor, “but I’d be better to get rid of a few more. Everyday, formal, athletic, lounge— that’s as many pairs of shoes as anyone needs. Not that you would be familiar with the concept of minimalism.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolled her eyes and leaned the boxes against the wall. “Where would you like me to start?” </p><p> </p><p>“Everything’s going,” he said. “Except the furniture— I’ll deal with that next week.”</p><p> </p><p>They boxed everything. Luckily a lot of things in Sandor’s closet were already boxed, because he’d never bothered to unpack them upon initially moving here, but there were several miscellaneous items in his living room that needed to be packed up, and all of the stuff in his bathroom, in his dining room. </p><p> </p><p>It was, admittedly, more than he’d thought it was going to be.</p><p> </p><p>Not all of the boxes could fit in Sansa’s car, which wasn’t entirely shocking— it <em>was</em> roomier than his car, but not by much. They took most of the stuff from his bed and living rooms. The bathroom stuff wasn’t necessary; they could go back for that. Fortunately, however, leaving a couple of boxes there gave enough room for the accent tables, stacked neatly on top of each other. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor drove the way back, listening to Sansa’s music as she stared out the window, her socked toes on the windshield and one of her hands in his. </p><p> </p><p>They left most of the boxes in the car when they got back to her house, caring only to take the larger of the U-Haul boxes, the one filled with his clothes. </p><p> </p><p>There certainly wasn’t any room in her dresser for his clothes— although in the past when she’d borrowed his clothes she’d just put them in the drawers by category as if they were her own— and even her closet was stuffed to the brim with dresses and coats and shoes. And a bunch of random fucking ski and snowboard equipment. Who the fuck kept ski equipment in their closet? Especially people like her who had half the fucking mall to store in there.</p><p> </p><p>The only place the box could really fit and be semi-tucked away was beside her closet. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa turned from him toward said closet, beginning to shrug out of her jacket. When she took it off, with him only standing a foot away, he could smell it. Usually he delighted in the scent of her clothes, but something was... different. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled the jacket under his nose and she looked horrified. He was perplexed, shifting the space around the collar and analyzing it with his nostrils. </p><p> </p><p>“God, what is it?” Sansa asked. “Do I smell?” She appeared genuinely concerned as to the reality of this being an ariseable problem.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said, unable to focus on those irrationalities. “There’s just something.... different. Are you wearing a new perfume?” </p><p> </p><p>“No.” She swivelled back and forth on her heels. </p><p> </p><p>Some of the sweetness had gone away, he realized. Or, perhaps not gone away— it was still horribly intoxicating, but not like the usual notes of Winter Berry, and much less of the suckly lemon. And it wasn’t even that the overall intensity had been muted, or that he enjoyed it any less— it was just that it was different. The previous scent had become so familiar and when he cuddled her and had his nose against her hair, that lovely saccharine smell on her skin had brought so much security. What had happened to it?</p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, she was putting on another jacket. He abruptly fell away from the pheromone mystery. </p><p> </p><p>“Are we going somewhere?” Sandor asked, putting the jacket on her desk. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. One more stop.” </p><p> </p><p>He gave her a puzzled look. “Well it’s not really a ‘stop’ unless—”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“Once again,” said Sandor, pleading, “he didn’t hear us; he was talking about the crying.” </p><p> </p><p>She winced, fingertips digging into his arms. “Well if he heard us crying he must’ve heard us afterwards, too!” </p><p> </p><p>“I think that we were louder crying.” </p><p> </p><p>His shoulder knocked into the wall. “Ow!” groaned Sandor, reaching to rub the spot he’d bumped, “the fuck are you taking me?” </p><p> </p><p>“Just don’t peek,” she said, her palm covering his eyes as they staggered to wherever she was taking him. “Really, Sandor, I’d be absolutely <em>mortified</em> if he heard us!” </p><p> </p><p>“Well don’t be mortified. He didn’t hear us.” </p><p> </p><p>She’d made him wear a blindfold even in the car, but when they’d gotten out she’d exchanged it just for her fingers. And he’d had to climb up <em>stairs</em>, too! With her hands over his eyes! </p><p> </p><p>There was an ache forming in his toes after the number of times he’d thwacked them onto the edges of the stairs. She’d wanted to leave again just as soon as they’d put the stuff in her room; he hadn’t even had time to shower. His clothes still reeked of smoke. </p><p> </p><p>He listened as a set of keys jingled, keeping his eyes closed only because she’d asked him to now that one of her hands had gone from his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look,” said Sansa, taking the other hand away slowly to tend to the mysterious door she was obviously unlocking. </p><p> </p><p>The key clicked into its place and she turned the knob carefully, rotating her body to stand in front of his and pulling his hands in. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I—”</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet,” she said, pushing the door closed again behind him. </p><p> </p><p>They walked further into the space, her pulling on his hands and him taking tentative steps forward, hoping he wasn’t being directed into an abyss in front of his feet. </p><p> </p><p>She stopped moving, and then so did he. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, you can look.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor’s eyes drifted open. He looked around, his hands still in hers. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes—”</p><p> </p><p>“—one of your dad’s apartments?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she nodded, fingers twiddling over his a bit… nervously, “but I was hoping that it could be... <em>our</em> apartment.” </p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened, looking around the open living room. It wasn’t one that he’d worked on with Bronn and Tormund, but it followed the same layout, the same procedures. He wondered when it had been remodeled.  </p><p> </p><p>“And you want to live here?” Sandor shot a glance over at the empty taupe wall to the left of him, wondering where her artwork would look best and where Princess’s bed would go. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s eyes became too soft— in a way that made his chest hurt— and she gently removed her fingers from his to scratch her scalp. “We don’t have to… It’s just that my dad got me the key earlier so that we could check it out and… see what might be right for us.”</p><p> </p><p>He ran his finger over the softly textured wall behind him. No drywall patches. No nicotine stains. No funky smells. No dickface landlord. “I think it’s perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes lit back up, lips spreading to a hopeful smile. “Really?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Sandor looked around some more. “Had you already visited?” </p><p> </p><p>“No,” she shook her head. “My dad showed me some pictures before we went to your apartment, and he gave me the key when we got back.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, brushing her forearms with his fingers. “Let’s see the other rooms then.”</p><p> </p><p>The color of her cheeks deepened and she folded her hands together, leading him down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>They walked by the bathroom and peered through the cracked door. “It’s a three-quarter bath,” she said, fingers on the frame. “There’s no tub.” </p><p> </p><p>That was the abrupt end of one fantasy. Everything else about the room was unremarkable, except for a really big, inescapable mirror on the wall. </p><p> </p><p>She realized what he was staring at. “We can try and cover that if we do move here.” </p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s alright.” His eyes broke away from the glass and fell to hers. “It’ll be your home, too. It’s your mirror, too.” The empathy in her face made his stomach twist, and to make her eyes go away from him he nodded his head down the hall to prompt the continuation of the tour. </p><p> </p><p>“And the bedroom…” Sansa twisted the knob, “is here.” </p><p> </p><p>Just another taupe room, it seemed, but his mind soared with images of what it would look like on move-in day. He imagined her awful neon yellow string lights above their bed, and their drawings on the walls, their clothes sharing the same hangers in the closet, Polaroids taped to the bathroom mirror. He thought about what their first dinner would be like at their table— their first breakfast in their new flat— what his first shower would feel like and how many times it would take for him to shake off that <em>I-have-to-go-home-soon</em> feeling before it registered that he <em>was</em> home— that their home was <em>together</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Well… do you like it?” she bit her lip (which he enjoyed immensely). “We can put our bed there,” she pointed, “and our dresser there… and your desk can over there, and my easel will be by that window.” </p><p> </p><p>“I think our bed should go in the middle,” he said, trying to picture it as he had been. “I’ll put my desk there,” he pointed to the corner, “and your bookshelves can go over there, and a few more in the living room. As far as your easel, there’s a sunny spot on the deck that I think you’d like better than here, but that’s your decision.” </p><p> </p><p>“But you haven’t even <em>seen</em> the deck yet.” </p><p> </p><p>“I spend thirty-five hours a week working on these apartments. I know what the deck looks like.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Sansa breathed, pretty stars dancing in her eyes again. “Well… alright then.” </p><p> </p><p>She slipped her fingers through his and they stood in the doorway of the empty taupe room, thinking loudly to themselves on how they could compromise on their respective visions. </p><p> </p><p>******</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’m going to shower, if that’s alright,” said Sandor. “I still reek of smoke.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Towels are under the sink.”</p><p> </p><p>He left his shoes by the door, fleeing to the bathroom and grabbing a towel from where she’d said they’d be. The clunky knob on the wall rotated with a loud squeak, and water gushed from the faucet. By the time his clothes were off and in a pile on the floor, steam was seeping from the shower head. </p><p> </p><p>This time he didn’t have any trouble identifying which bottle of soap was hers. Sandor pulled the flimsy cap up, pouring a little into his hand and lathering it over his chest, arms and shoulders. The scent was fruity but he really didn’t care— it was going to get the smoke off of him and… it was a way to keep her scent even closer to him. </p><p> </p><p>This was what he recognized, he thought, inhaling the sharp lemon from the soap bubbles and the soft cherry afterglow. <em>That</em> was what she smelled like, before the salt and sweat and pheromones. </p><p> </p><p>He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the locks back and scrubbing at his temples. Sandor scratched the top of his head, thinking about whether or not he would actually trust his very novice carpentry skills to make a bed frame and ask her to sleep on it. She probably wanted her bed anyways (and his mattress and frame would be on a one-way to the junkyard) but he just wanted to be… thoughtful. And useful. For her. To work his mind and his hands in a way that she would enjoy and treasure, and maybe that way he could make something half as successful as the home she’d made in his heart. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor brought his fingertips to his hip, tracing featherlight circles over the warped red marks that littered the lower half of his stomach. He remembered his dad pinning him down and branding him with tobacco stubs until he blistered, and how thoroughly her gentle touches had scared nearly all of that pain away in just one sitting. It was still there when he forced his mind back there, but now there was a shield covering those memories up, locking them away in the back of his head and replacing the shame and hatred with lip-gloss kisses and manicured fingernails. </p><p> </p><p>He spun the knob and the faucet halted quickly as he pulled the towel from the curtain and folded it around him. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor stepped onto the rug in front of the shower and wrung his hair out languidly in front of the mirror. The towel was tucked above his hips, protectively draped over the majority of the stubby red scars; he was comfortable with her seeing them now, not so much seeing them himself. </p><p> </p><p>The stench of the smoke was gone from his damp skin, replaced by ‘fresh lemons and honey’. Sandor pulled on the clean clothes from the countertop and stuffed the towel under his arm. He was probably just going to take them off as soon as he got into her room anyway, but he didn’t dare risk venturing into the hall half-naked and risking interactions with one of her three thousand family members. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor tapped the back of his hand on her door, damp knuckles rapping against the wood. </p><p> </p><p>“Hold on!” Sansa yelped, and he snickered, leaning his cheek against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Another few moments went by; he could hear motion in the room, like she was running around in circles or something. Or having a dance party. She liked to have dance parties. </p><p> </p><p>The hinges creaked, door moving slightly open. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s face appeared— the room was dim and… flickering? He hadn’t seen that setting on her string lights before. </p><p> </p><p>A softness overtook her face and she smiled. She was wearing something black and lacy and very short, and his eyes widened when he saw it. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor laughed at her hastiness, hoping she would mistake the redness on his chest for hot water burns when really it was because her legs were so exposed. He stepped forth eagerly, barely noticing when she tried to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>”Sandor, <em>wait</em>—“</p><p> </p><p>His breath lodged in his throat when he looked around the room. </p><p> </p><p>Fire. <em>Everywhere</em>. He cringed back against the door, unable to speak, unable to breathe. Was that smoke? What was she doing in here? Was the air so thick? </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s eyes lit with horror at his expression. She reached towards her desk, fumbling. “It’s okay, they’re fake. I was trying to tell you but you rushed in. There’s no fire.” It was a candle in her hand. She poked her fingers into the flame in the center and when nothing happened to her he started to breathe again. “Look,” she said, turning the candle over in her grip and flicking the switch off. The light fell away from the plastic ‘wax’ and he set a trepidatious fingertip onto its edge. </p><p> </p><p>There must’ve been thirty candles in the room, maybe more— but they were relatively small. Not much bigger than tea lights. Collectively they still left the room relatively dim. </p><p> </p><p>He turned his head back to her. “They’re all fake?” </p><p> </p><p>“All of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor sighed in relief and she wove her fingers through his. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t think fake candles would be a problem, but I was trying to tell you first just to make sure—”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re not. They’re really not. Thought they were real.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “My fault for shoving in.” His eyes fell to the top of her lacy garment and he swallowed. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa noticed. Her fingers twiddled with the hem of his shirt and he looked down at her chest, half exposed by the black lacy thing, and his heart started being madly again. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this what you had ‘planned’?” he asked, hand wrapping carefully around her waist. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I thought I could do it anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor played with the strap at her shoulder, the contact with her very soft skin making his head spin and his boxers a little tighter. His gaze wavered between her full lips and her glittery eyes and he nodded. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa stepped him back until the backs of his legs tapped the foot of her bed frame and he lowered to sit at the edge. She touched his cheeks and gave him kisses that made his stomach clench, and before any wretched sounds could fall from his throat he pushed her gently off. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought that you were worried about people hearing us,” he mumbled, eyes swimming over the lace on her breasts. </p><p> </p><p>“Well… I talked to Jon and you were right, he had only been talking about… the crying.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor snickered and she tapped his upper arm with her palm. </p><p> </p><p>“Stop! It was bad enough when he laughed. Anyway, he’s not coming home til later, and we’ll be… quieter.” </p><p> </p><p>“If you say so.” He drew her between his knees by the shoulders, leaning forward for another kiss when his foot scraped against something smooth on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor cringed, thinking it was a bug at first— but the shape was all wrong for that. He leaned down to see what it was. </p><p> </p><p>A flower petal. A <em>rose</em> petal, specifically. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers, taking a glance around the room. They were everywhere, just as the fake plastic candles were; dark rose petals on the hardwood planks, on her fluffy rug, on her nightstand and her blankets. The bed was made differently, too— the most elaborate of blanket nests and the sharpest he’d ever seen of her folding skills. It looked like she’d put some of her clutter away as well, and she hadn’t had to do any of that. </p><p> </p><p>His breath caught again— not fearfully this time— and he made a noise that was definitely stupid. “You did all of this?”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded under big eyes. “Are you<em> swooning?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor laughed. He stood up from the edge of the bed, wrapping around Sansa and her black lacy thing and pushing her hair away to lay an open-mouthed kiss at her neck, and another, down her shoulder, pushing the strap onto her arm. </p><p> </p><p>“Now <em>I</em> might swoon.” She tilted her head back, pushing closer against him and hiding a sigh in his t-shirt.</p><p> </p><p>He laughed again, a small chuckle against her neck. If he had anticipated this happening after his shower he might’ve prepared something a little nicer than a ratty, ripped <em>I see dead people</em> garment from a souvenir shop five years ago. </p><p> </p><p><em>She</em>, on the other hand, looked incredible. The slip she wore stopped high enough up her thighs to make his breath turn to stone in his lungs, her hair hanging like a blanket to the center of her back, and he walked them to the bed, feet mashing on petals all the way there. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa sat on the side of the bed, her knees open, feet planted to the wood, and he sat next to her. </p><p> </p><p>There were petals on the pillows as well. He put one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair, lips weaving into a kiss. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa began to pull his shirt up by the hem. His heart raced as he raised his arms for her to tug it from his shoulders, and when the shirt was finally off, his heart started to… slow down.</p><p> </p><p>The lights still made him wary, but the fact that it was for <em>her</em> comforted him just enough to not let himself be bothered. If he was doing it for her then that really wasn’t much of a decision at all, was it? She needed them on and he only <em>wanted</em> them off, and that wasn’t something to be negotiated. He also couldn’t deny that seeing her and sharing eye contact while they were intimate made him feel a lot more grounded, a lot more connected to her and he yearned to be connected like that. </p><p> </p><p>It was really nice to have his shirt off again, especially after the shower. The body heat wasn’t constricted anymore, it could just radiate off of his skin. </p><p> </p><p>She placed her hands on his bare shoulders and he closed his eyes, taking a breath before edging the lacy black thing from her thighs past her stomach, up her chest and over her head. </p><p> </p><p>Though it shouldn’t have been particularly surprising given the nature of the garment, there was nothing underneath aside for a little scrap of underwear that appeared to be cut from the same lacy black fabric as the rest of it. </p><p> </p><p>There was a lot more light than yesterday, he realized, forgetting for a moment how breathing worked, which had become a very regular experience when he was around her— <em>especially</em> when she was lacking for clothes. </p><p> </p><p>The softness in her eyes made Sandor think that perhaps the lights were making her nervous, too. </p><p> </p><p>He covered her body with his, slipping one arm underneath hers as an attempt to both embrace her and keep himself balanced properly, and used the other hand to caress. First it was her cheek he traced, then a slight movement to push her hair behind her ear, and then Sandor let his lips sink against hers, their noses brushing together as he made patterns on her collar and then her chest. </p><p> </p><p>Her lips became weak beneath his, her fingers slowing down on his shoulders, feet shifting apart somewhere against his calves. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled away from her mouth— not as easy as he thought it was going to be once he opened his eyes and saw that hers were displaying concerned vulnerability at his absence. He let out a careful breath, stroking the wisping locks of hair off of her shoulder before laying his lips against her throat. He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses at her collar, her breast, lingering for a few moments every now and then with the intent that the marks of his tongue might linger for a day or two the way she’d done to his body so many times. </p><p> </p><p>When his mouth lowered to her belly, she wove her fingers tightly into his hair, rooting him in place and keeping him from descending. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor looked up to see her eyes wide. That bewitched concern was back!— he didn’t like that at all! He stuck his tongue into her bellybutton. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa squirmed away faster than he’d ever seen someone squirm away, akin to a fish that got stranded on shore, fighting strenuously to fall back into the sea. Or like the victims in her slasher films. It was one of the two for sure.  </p><p> </p><p>“Sandor!” she yelped, shoving at his face. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you <em>have</em> to do things like that with your tongue!”</p><p> </p><p>He pointed quickly to the wall, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “Careful, Sansa, someone will hear us,” he mocked. </p><p> </p><p>“Well maybe don’t put your tongue in my bellybutton then and we won’t have that problem!” </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Sandor rolled his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Seriously! Every <em>single</em> time you have to go and shove your tongue—”</p><p> </p><p>“Not every single time,” he interrupted, pressing his lips to her skin once again, this time a few inches lower than her bellybutton. </p><p> </p><p>At the contact, she seemed to forget what she was upset about. She’d also forgotten to be nervous, which meant that it was a victory for him. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor brought his free hand down and began to trace lines over her thigh. He set back to planting kisses on her stomach, but it wasn’t long before she stopped him again, her fingers weaving into his hair. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor reached up to the top of his head where her hand rested and pulled it in front of him, tangling his fingers with hers. He kissed her soft knuckles. “Are you okay?” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa swallowed, nodding. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but when she decided not to he didn’t push her. Her legs fell open just slightly and he took the opportunity to move them further apart, lowering to rest his cheek on one of her thighs. Heat was absolutely <em>radiating</em> off of her skin and onto his good cheek, only a little black lacy barrier between them. </p><p> </p><p>Alright, so he had watched some porn in advance for this one. And read a few online articles with cheesecake smut and sex puns even <em>he</em> knew were bad. Everything else had seemed at least somewhat intuitive, but this was just an entire conundrum and he wanted to be at least a little prepared. The way he’d touched her on the camping trip hadn’t been enough, it didn’t seem, and it left him feeling a lot more inadequate than he would ever be willing to let on. It was bad enough that he couldn’t control himself at <em>all</em> when she had her hands on him— not the way that women wanted men to be able to control themselves— and so much worse that he didn’t have any idea how to have that same effect on her except for intuition that was either blocked by nerves or just inherently bad. He was willing to do anything to learn what he could beforehand, and aside from that he’d just hope he wasn’t a complete disappointment. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, watching porn and reading shitty articles with headlines like <em>How to Eat Your Girlfriend's P*ssy the Right Way</em> weren’t exactly practice. No, practice might’ve been an actual sexual partner but he was <em>long</em> past an opportunity for those learning experiences now. </p><p> </p><p>He knew a lot of what Sansa liked, at least, so that was a start. Sandor closed his eyes, sucking on the inside of her thigh as he used the hand that wasn’t woven into hers to draw circles on the other, edging closer to the hem of her underwear. </p><p> </p><p>That smell was back! The different one— the one that he had noticed earlier. He rubbed his nose against her thigh, paying mind to not linger too long sucking the same spot or he’d over-agitate the skin. The accidental occasions where he’d hurt her wrists were enough to really fucking hammer that mindfulness into him, to a subconscious level. The fear was almost intrusive enough to keep him from even <em>giving</em> her ‘love bites’ (as she called them, a term that didn’t make him less nervous about causing her pain), but... Well, Sansa had said that she really liked them, and she wasn’t confused about that. He’d asked her a few times if she was sure that she really wanted him to do that, and the answer was always yes. It sort of made sense that she liked them from the perspective that he <em>really</em> liked the marks she left on his body, but he thought it was really important to have reassurance about that. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor shifted to a different spot, a little further away to a space that wasn’t so foggy and thick with their heat so that he could breathe that smell in again. Fuck, it was intoxicating— but it still wasn’t the same. The tartness of the lemon had honeyed over like amber, the salt was thicker. </p><p> </p><p>Her fingers squeezed his, her hips arching just an inch before settling down again. He moved his lips again, closer to her center, and closed his mouth on it, swirling his tongue and sucking on her skin not ungently. His thumb smoothed over the black lace, heat emanating towards his fingertip. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled back, sitting between her knees. He unlinked his fingers from hers, holding eye contact, dug under the black lace and dragged it down. </p><p> </p><p>He tried to remember some of the things he saw online, but the likelihood that any of the reactions he watched were very realistic was slim, so he didn’t dwell very much on it. The articles seemed more promising, but it was a lot harder to visualise in the moment and therefore he hadn’t been able to retain a lot of it. </p><p> </p><p>It mostly just came down to intuition; what he knew Sansa liked and what he thought she might. That’s what he’d been afraid of, but it was all that he really had.</p><p> </p><p>When he touched her with his forefinger he knew by the way that her stomach moved that she liked <em>something</em> about it, the manner in which her lips gently parted. Sandor laid back down in front of her, pulling her hand back onto her belly and folding his into it again. </p><p> </p><p>He knew where his tongue was supposed to go, and he let his fingers follow underneath, one and then two. The pace was a little slower than what he expected her to get off to, but that was intentional.</p><p> </p><p>Her knees drew up beside his shoulders and tightened there, and he forced himself not to stop to look up at her, wanting to keep going. He hadn’t thought that this was going to arouse him quite so much, and he was surprised to have begun throbbing in his boxers. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t actually as big of a conundrum as he had agonized over— every spot that he touched with the tip of his tongue seemed to electrify. She started on fire beneath him and he wasn’t nervous; he wanted to follow her— she made him want to start on fire with her.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s hand turned to a vise over his, her fingers hardening to stone between his knuckles. There was a noise she made that caused a prideful swell in his chest, but she was quick to muffle it into one of the blankets beside her. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor held her hand firmly, dragging their fingered embrace deeper into her stomach and holding her in place. He slid his tongue back and forth, fingers drawing slowly, trying his best to forget about the ache he was experiencing in his own body and directing his sole focus to hers. </p><p> </p><p>The regularity of her melodies increased, tangling into a slew of muffled— but audible— sighs. He paid attention to the movements that elicited them, working towards as many of those as he could. </p><p> </p><p>His teeth scraped over her by accident and he was going to break the contact to apologize when her chest heaved, knees tightened against his shoulders and she let herself emit a long, fragmented sigh— still into the blanket. </p><p> </p><p><em>Oh</em>. He froze for a moment, lingering with his tongue flat against her twitching flesh, waiting and trying to remember in his research archives what he was supposed to do now. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor pulled up, withdrawing the fingers from her body, rather than remove the hand that he held hers with, to push the hair away from his eyes. The scent of her on his fingers did <em>not</em> help with a now very desperate erection.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you just come?” he asked, already fairly certain of the truth of the matter but wanting to ask anyway because it would’ve been very good to hear. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced to where his mouth had been as if he expected some sort of Magic 8-Ball answer to reveal itself on her sex, and unsurprisingly, even in the light, not a lot of information was given away. That was annoying; there was significantly less anatomically-possible evidence available on her body than there was for his and other people of his sex and Sandor took this as a despicable slight in design. </p><p> </p><p>There <em>was</em> a lot more slick covering her than there had been prior but he wasn’t sure if that was proof of her having gotten off or just a mechanical result of his fingering. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa sat up, pointing to the wall furious despite how hard it seemed to be for her to move. Her momentary weakness in motion did <em>not</em> slip past him. Her cheeks had gone very dark, and her whisper was barely contained by her ferocity. “Gosh, Sandor! Do you have to be so vulgar? And loud! Keep your voice down!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s <em>not</em> vulgar,” he snickered. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the point.” </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he sat up, unhooking his hand from hers to prepare for air quotes. “Did you ‘<em>hit</em> <em>the big O</em>’?” </p><p> </p><p>She cringed, and her cheeks went an even deeper shade of red. “Sandor—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll stop.” He sat on his haunches beside her, reaching forth to trace a line with a tacky finger down her middle. “I just want to know if it was good.” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s face relaxed and she let herself fall back against the pillows. “It was very good.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor followed overtop of her. His lips stretched, scars twisting. He’d been injected with pride, and at the fact that he’d expected it to go unsuccessfully for it to go in the complete opposite direction, he couldn’t keep a smile to himself. </p><p> </p><p>She passed her hand over the hardness in his underwear and a smile took her face as well. There was a sweetness there much more powerful than that between her thighs, and an unwound satisfaction at his adequacy that made his heart ache harder than anything in his pants ever could’ve. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I need the lights on anymore,” she said, bringing her fingers back up to stroke his cheek. “I won’t be uncomfortable if you’d prefer them off.” </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s keep them on,” he said, nearly purring when she slipped one hand into his damp hair, the other grazing over post-wash sensitive skin. If he had anticipated this, <em>again</em>, he would’ve waited to shower until afterwards— but there wasn’t a chance in hell that this was going to get in the way of his sleep, and nor could the blending of their pheromones on his skin ever pose any unsavoury results.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’ll take the rest of the night to turn all of those candles off,” Sandor said, but it wasn’t the real reason he didn’t want to turn them off just yet. It had been just as important for him to have visual contact with her and he wouldn’t have traded that for anything, even if it still made him squirm a bit to feel her gaze making friends with each scar that riddled his face and body. </p><p> </p><p>“If you say so.” Sansa removed her touch from his hair to pull at the waistline of his boxers, and when she struggled, unable to slide them down very far from her stance underneath his broad frame, he helped her, unable to bruise the lovely moment with any snarky remarks he might’ve made in normalcy. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor didn’t have very much more control this time around (especially not after the events that had just transpired), but the awareness of his part in her satisfaction made his lack of anatomical restraint a little more acceptable to him. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, it didn’t stop him from trying to get her off again. But the positioning was a bit awkward for that and he forced himself not to be bitter when she took control of her own body. At least she was making herself feel how she wanted to, and they both hit the same highs. There would be much more time for him to learn. </p><p> </p><p>He, unsurprisingly, had no interest in moving from the bed (i.e. away from her) after the <em>don’t-you-forget-about-me</em> love chemicals had kicked in, which he still hadn’t gotten used to and didn’t think he ever would, but Sansa didn’t want to linger in the in-between stages when there were still things to do. The lights were still on and she wanted them off, she had to pee, she wanted to get the rose petals off the floor, etc. The flowers were romantic— not so much the candles, those had nearly given him a stroke— but if the choice was between that temporary flush of sensuality when his eyes were just going to be on hers anyway and having more time to cuddle afterwards, he would’ve picked the cuddles, hands down. </p><p> </p><p>Also, individually picking up every single rose petal was too exhausting to be worth it. The candles, on the other hand, didn’t take very long at all— moving had been the real hassle. They went downstairs to get food after that, hungry after prolonged bedplay. It wasn’t that late after all, but since they’d already eaten dinner, it was just time for snacks-treats. </p><p> </p><p>She reached into her drawer and took out one of his shirts to shrug over her head, pulling a drawstring pair of boxers underneath that. </p><p> </p><p>“How do cheese and crackers sound?” she asked. “With sour cherry jam?” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s great,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>She stared at him for a moment after they were dressed, looking deeply at him before walking over and wrapping into an embrace. She didn’t say anything. </p><p> </p><p>They cuddled and ate on the couch; Sansa didn’t want any crumbs in her bed, or… any more crumbs in her bed. There was a show playing on the tv but he wasn’t watching, only focused on untangling her damp hair with his fingers as she laid across his legs, her cheek on his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor could already see the shadow of a ‘love bite’ forming on her neck and it sort of made his stomach twist because he could only think of bruises as <em>pain</em>— but she said that they <em>weren’t</em> painful... and it was still really hard for him to get past that blockade in his mind. He knew that leaving those didn’t actually hurt her, and he <em>knew</em> that he really liked when she left love bites on his body but seeing the little blotches on her skin didn’t entirely sit right in his chest. He tried to ignore it, leaning down for a kiss. </p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>, that smell! It was even further astray than before! The lemon on her neck was even less tart, leaving instead a much quieter citrus, damp and ambrosial. The berries in her hair didn’t smell like the sour, juicy cherries for a suburban cobbler, but instead like sun-soaked produce, bubbling and blistering in a July heat. Even the salt was saltier, dirtier, huskier— like something that he equated with his own scent. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck. Sandor froze. Like his <em>own</em> scent. She smelled like <em>him</em>— was that it? He pushed her up. </p><p> </p><p>His hand dragged on her shirt. Of course she fucking smelled like him! She’d been wearing his fucking clothes! </p><p> </p><p>“Sansa,” he breathed, clutching at the shirt, “how long have you been wearing this?” </p><p> </p><p>“This shirt? All week, I think. Maybe longer. It’s starting not to smell so much like you anymore so it’s a good thing I have access to <em>all</em> of your clothes now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Earlier I said that you smelled different—“ </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widened. “Oh—“ she timidly sniffed the shirt, “I mean it could probably use a wash, yeah... I’ll change into something else.” </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he grabbed her hands, “you smell lovely— that’s not it. It’s that I’ve been trying to figure out all day why you smell differently than usual... and it’s because of <em>me</em>— you smell like <em>me</em>, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you know, we just,” she leaned into his ear to whisper, “slept together!” He’d considered that as a reason. “And I’ve been sleeping in your clothes a lot lately, and we shared a bed yesterday— so it’s not really any wonder.” </p><p> </p><p>He knew he shouldn’t have been quite so blown away by something that made perfect sense— they shared a bed, they slept together, she wore his fucking clothes and then <em>boom</em>— they began to smell similarly. But it didn’t leave him any shade of unmoved. For them to share something so sensory and intimate that it literally penetrated the skin— it was debatably more intimate than <em>sex</em> even in that sex was momentary and this wasn’t. This was something he could hold onto. </p><p> </p><p>She did still smell uniquely like herself, only he was a part of that now, too, and it was likely the same for him. This didn’t rank anywhere on the list of things that he’d thought were going to be overwhelming for him in their relationship, but there they were: her languid on his body and him once again trying to make his heart slow down to a normal rate. </p><p> </p><p>“Can we go back upstairs now?” she asked, poking his chest. “Back to our bed?” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor hitched a breath at the mention of <em>their</em> bed. In a way, that really didn’t help his heart slow down at all!— and in a similar way it was everything that he needed. Exactly like holding her and knowing and their hearts beat to the same rhythm. Exactly like taking off his clothes and believing that she didn’t think any less of him for the scars that were underneath. Exactly like knowing that his scent was written on her skin and that hers was written on his. </p><p> </p><p>“Back to our bed,” he repeated. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa drew back, tugging on his hand. He righted himself and shrugged an arm around her waist. </p><p> </p><p>They shut off the tv. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just for fun, since I sort of unofficially declared this by writing in that emerald is Sansa’s birthstone, generally that would be a one-way to her being a Taurus, which— I adore— the food obsessions, the strong but gentle energy, the stubbornness— taurus!sansa is a big yes from me. That said, I’m split between my hc Sansa being a Taurus and a Cancer. More broadly, earth or water. Anyways apparently emerald is also like, a secondary Cancer birthstone? So still stands for both lol. Could flip either way. As far as Sandy, my hc Sandor is hands down the *most* chaotic fucking <em>could-not-keep-my-life-together-if-I-fucking-bled-superglue</em> fish. I’m in it for the water x water or water x earth harmony— vibes are immaculate &lt;3</p><p>Anyways thanks so much for reading as usual :) I’m too proud of myself for breaking my 2-month waiting time between updates with this chapter, especially because writing this means fluff therapy for me, so thank you for validating my fluff therapy and I will be writing more soon xx</p><p>p.s. there will be another chapter, but it’s super short. I was going to post ch10 today but unfortunately editing this chapter took way too long, so that’ll be up tomorrow. This is the last of the chronological plot.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Twin Flames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Princess! and! Fluffy!</p>
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    <p>
  <em>See you in 5! Be in the kitchen! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sandor rolled his eyes, wondering what the surprise was this time. He put his phone back into his pocket and took a final look at his workspace before heading up from the communal basement. He’d finished his most recent project a few hours ago but he periodically came down throughout the day to both admire it and make sure it hadn’t randomly destroyed itself, which was, you know, always a possibility. </p><p> </p><p>He waited by the countertop, scooping up Princess and giving big hugs despite the squirms that indicated she did <em>not</em> like to be lifted off the ground. She was starting to get fat, Sansa was right— he was giving her too many treats. But she was still just a puppy and she deserved <em>all</em> of the Milk-Bones! He rubbed her soft, chubby belly and placed his nose on her snout. </p><p> </p><p>“Princess,” he said, trying to persuade her that he was much comfier than the kitchen tile, “Princess.” Sandor kissed the side of her head as she kicked her stubby legs at the air. He rubbed the back of her ear with his nose and that made her lean into him, hoping for more affectionate scratches. </p><p> </p><p>The virtual doorman— which, <em>gasp</em>, actually <em>worked</em> in this apartment!— began to play music and he set Princess down to walk over and click the <em>yes</em> button to let Sansa in. The door on the first floor buzzed, and he waited patiently by the fridge. </p><p> </p><p>First he noticed that she was coming up the stairs a bit slower than usual, but he didn’t pay a lot of mind to it because Princess’s high-pitched howling was considerably distracting, and then their apartment door was opening— just a crack. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa’s head popped in and she peered over at him, eyes glittering. </p><p> </p><p>“Well?” he asked. “What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>She pushed the door open further and his mouth fell open. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t think she’d actually do it. <em>Why</em>, exactly, he thought that she wouldn’t do it was a direct result of the fact that she just hadn’t done it <em>yet</em>, but that fact aside, her actually doing it wasn’t shocking on its own.  </p><p> </p><p><em>A cat. </em>She was carrying a blithering <em>cat</em>— the ugliest cat he he’d ever seen, to be specific. </p><p> </p><p>“God— what is that?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Fluffy!” Sansa beamed. “Our newest kitty-baby. Come here and say hello.” She walked in, letting the door close behind her bum and wiggling her shoes off on the mat. </p><p> </p><p>He took a tentative step toward her and the… cat. “He looks like he came out of the trash bin,” Sandor proclaimed. “Where on Earth did you get him?” </p><p> </p><p>He was too busy observing the chunks of hair missing from Fluffy’s fur to hear her answer properly. His long hairs were black and matted, peppered with white spots on the feet, and instead of the typical green eyes that went along with black cats, Fluffy’s eyes were sort of orange, bright like a Halloween Jack O’Lantern. The eyes were very pretty, he noticed. He supposed Fluffy wasn’t <em>monstrously</em> ugly; he at least had pretty eyes. He needed a fucking haircut, or at the very least a bath and a brush.</p><p> </p><p>Fluffy’s big orange eyes went wide when Sandor tried to pet his back, his tricolored tail sticking out defensively. He wasn’t pleased when Sansa tried to touch him either; Sandor watched as his skinny little legs went stiff, tiny but lethal claws emerging from his paws. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s nervous, Sansa, let him down.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just know he’s going to run under the couch and not come out for hours! I have to at least show him his litter box first.” </p><p> </p><p>“Where’s the litter box?” </p><p> </p><p>She blinked. “Left it in the car.” </p><p> </p><p>“Figures. Let him down. He’ll go under the couch, Princess will taunt him for a while but he’ll come out eventually and you can show him the box then.” </p><p> </p><p>Sansa sighed. “Alright.” She set Fluffy down and he booked it for the couch as though his life depended on it— which in his little cat-mind, he likely thought to be the truth— before Princess could even sniff his butt. </p><p> </p><p>Once Fluffy was out of her arms, Sansa shouted affection at Princess, who warmed to her immediately, wagging her chubby butt as she heaved her front paws into Sansa’s crouched lap. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m hungry,” said Sansa, who’d rolled Princess onto her back in her lap and continued to rub her belly. “Do you want to go out? Or at least come to the store with me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, I was thinking we could cook— but first I have something to show you from downstairs.” </p><p> </p><p>She gave him a look. “Sandor,” she said gently, tactful as ever, “we’re starting to run out of room for your furniture. I know that you really like woodworking but we can’t fit another coffee table in here— we already have three. Maybe you could like, open an Etsy shop or something, and you could sell a whole bunch of coffee tables!”</p><p> </p><p>Sandor groaned. That wasn’t the first time she’d suggested he open an Etsy shop. “It’s not another coffee table, I swear. And it will fit.” </p><p> </p><p>He knew that eventually he would either have to stop making so much furniture or at at least start selling it, because the wood was expensive. He’d already done their entire bedroom and dining sets, and a several coffee tables and boxes. Turns out making a bed frame hadn’t been as hard as he thought it was going to be, and after the completion of their bed, he’d become <em>obsessed</em> with woodworking. One of the favorite things he’d made was a picture frame for her portrait of him, after he’d taped it back together. It hung in a sunny spot in the living room, with some of her other art neighboring it. </p><p> </p><p>They walked downstairs. She closed her eyes at the door and he pushed through, walking backwards in front of her. </p><p> </p><p>Sandor waited a few moments, looking at his gift just to make sure that everything was right. “Okay, you can look now.” </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t breathe when she opened her eyes, focusing only on her expression as her face lit up. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s... an easel,” she said quietly. “You made me an <em>easel</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“I thought an H-frame would be better because they’re sturdier,” he said, speaking only for the sake of speaking through his nerves that she wouldn’t like it. </p><p> </p><p>“They are,” Sansa ran her fingers over the sanded, lacquered edges with awe plain on her face. “I love it. It’s going to go right onto that spot on the deck you showed me. I’m so happy it’s not another coffee table,” she giggled.</p><p> </p><p>“Thought you would be.” He went around the back of it. “And this is how it folds,” Sandor demonstrated, unscrewing the polished knob gently as the easel’s back loosened and he folded the legs together. </p><p> </p><p>Sansa repeated the motion after him. He knew that she knew how to unscrew a knob, which meant that she was only doing it to humor him and that fact made his heart flutter. </p><p> </p><p>After she’d tightened it again and the structure was stable, she slid her arms under his and pulled him close against her, and all of the air escaped his lungs. Seeing her in the bed that he’d built made him euphoric with satisfaction and pride— he could only imagine what it would be like every time he saw her outside painting on the H-frame easel. Before that, she’d always been sitting in the chair painting in her lap, or hunched way over the outdoor coffee table he’d made, but now she would have her own easel to paint on!</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Sandor,” pulling his face down with her hands and kissing his cheeks. “Will you help me take it upstairs? I want to put it on the deck now.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Now</em>, he thought, flooded with appreciation by her appreciation. “Sure, we can take it up now.” <em>‘Helping her’</em> take it up now only meant him carrying it and her watching, but it was worth it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“And then you’ll be ready to go to the grocery store?” Sansa asked, following him up. “I have over three thousand pins in my recipe pin board and we haven’t made very many of them yet.” </p><p> </p><p>“We’ve made, like, fifty,” he said, pushing the upstairs door back open with her easel on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, <em>only</em> fifty. Which means we have over twenty-nine hundred and fifty more recipes to get through.” </p><p> </p><p>Sandor rolled his eyes. “Congrats on the math there.” </p><p> </p><p>She slapped his ass and he glared at her over his shoulder. Princess wagged her tail like the happiest little puppy when they opened their front door again, and Fluffy’s orange eyes could be seen from beneath the couch, flickering like two twin flames. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you’re not familiar with the term “twin flames” I strongly suggest looking it up! &lt;3</p><p>Coolio. Okay, well— I suppose this fic is complete *.* for a while there I was nervous but here we are and I am definitely crying about it omg! This series started as a fucking haircut one-shot and now it’s been like, 17 or so days short of an entire YEAR omfg. </p><p>Anyways, there probably won’t be a plot-based part three but I <em>will</em> be writing modern one shots in this universe. A few of my modern ficlets already are in the universe I just didn’t attach them to the series because they’re not directly related to the plot and I thought it would’ve been misleading lol. </p><p>Ugh thanks so so so much for reading this crackfluff fic/series ily &lt;3 fyi that my tumblr is open to prompt requests so if you have prompts I’d love to entertain them, or if you just want to administer affection to me my tumblr is @deslabe x</p>
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